


The Key of Victory

by agetwellcard



Category: Cobra Starship, Fall Out Boy, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-13
Updated: 2013-11-16
Packaged: 2017-12-11 17:25:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 64,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/801243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agetwellcard/pseuds/agetwellcard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(music game show au) Don't miss the new season of The Key of Victory, a show that kicks off music careers for the winners. Every season we bring five popular musicians and then mix them with fifteen hopeful teenagers in one house. Every week they will compete in various competitions to see who is most ready to be a professional musician, all with the guidance of our celebrities. It's fifteen weeks of action that keep the cameras rolling 24/7. Make sure to tune in!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. INTRODUCTION

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! Long time no see. I've been playing with this idea for a while, having seen a Tumblr post joking about what would happen if you put a bunch of bloggers and band members in a house together. This brought me to the epic idea of a game show that's like a mix of Big Brother, American Idol, and America's Next Top Model. It's a silly idea, but I'm excited to write it and hopefully you guys like it. Comment and tell me what you think?

INTRODUCTION 

My mother is staring at me from the driver’s side, worried eyes scanning over my face. The windows are rolled down, a cigarette in her fingers. She quickly looks back to the road, turning right and then taking a long drag from her cigarette. 

“Two weeks, Brendon," she sighs, exhaling a plume of smoke. “You’re missing two weeks of school for this.” 

I try my best to stifle the laugh that almost erupts from my throat. “I already made up all the tests, Mom. It’s fine, trust me," I assure her for the millionth time. 

“Imagine how this will look on the college applications, Bren,” she sighs. “Two weeks off, for what? There’s no good reason. It’s not like you can put down that you were on some reality TV show, now can you?” 

“They might know if they watch the show. Maybe I’ll be more desirable if they watched the show. And if I win…I won’t need college," I exclaim, looking out the window, wondering how the future will look. Maybe people will know my name. Maybe this will finally kick start my music career.

The GPS tells us to make an abrupt left and then we drive into a large parking lot. The only signs of life are directly straight ahead, a group of teenagers, accompanied with their parents, all hanging around. I feel myself involuntarily smile as I wonder which ones are going to my friends, or which ones are going to become my enemies. My mother parks a few feet from the group, completely ignoring the clearly marked parking spots. 

She takes the keys out from the ignition and looks at me with a serious expression on her face. “You know I’m going to be watching every week, and I’ll record all of this, so if you do something wrong, we’ll have to show the entire family every year at Christmas.” 

I look down nervously to my fingers. I know that she’s serious. “It’s only going to be no longer than a few months, Mom. How much trouble could I get into in that amount of time?” I shrug. 

She shakes her head, taking off her seatbelt. “Knowing you, probably a lot.” 

I smile at her and she reciprocates it. We get out of the car and collect my things from the trunk. I slip on a backpack, taking a duffle bag my mother hands me. She holds onto my guitar case, walking over to the group of other parents and contestants. They all look fairly bored. The email said to be here at six in the morning. I arrived five minutes early, but I’m not sure how long the rest of these kids have been waiting. 

Most of them have guitar cases, even if the mansion is bound to have instruments everywhere. There appears to be more girls than guys, but I figure it will only be better for me. Everyone is beautiful, big eyes and smooth faces. I mean, I don’t think I’m a bad looking guy, but all the guys look like models for GQ or something. The girls are equally pretty, shiny hair and long eyelashes. 

The crowd seems awfully quiet until a charter bus arrives on the scene. A guy with balding hair comes out once it’s parked. He has a tight suite on, beady eyes scanning the crowd. He gives us a big smile and lets out a, “Well, hello, cast of season four!” 

All fifteen of us let out a few whoops, but quiet down when we realize that the man wants to talk again. “My name is Collin, I’m the main producer. I’m here to talk to you about how this season will go. You will all compete for a record deal, facing off against one another with the help of our celebrities to aide you on your journeys," he explains to us things we already know. “Every week you’ll have a competition and then one of you will be eliminated, voted off by our celebrity judges. The schedule is that we film the competitions on Mondays, and we film the eliminations of Fridays. We also have cameras all over the house, as well as a camera crew around all day.” 

I watch as my mother narrows her eyes, but she doesn’t say anything. I smile, finally ready for all of this to happen. I’ve been waiting ever since last month when I got the call that I was going to be one of the contestants. Everyone else is smiling too, probably already plotting their way to success. I decide to ignore those looks, and tune back into Collin and how he is telling us that we’re now going to be leaving to go to the mansion, and how we’re supposed to put our things in the compartments. 

I look over to my mother, and she’s already got her worried eyes directed at me. I instantly go in for a hug, feeling maybe a little childish. She pets my hair and pulls apart. “Bye, Brenny. Knock ‘em dead, okay?” 

***

The bus ride is loud, everyone squealing as they introduce themselves. I sit next to a boy who looks quiet. He’s reading a book, his fingers twirling the bookmark around idly. When I sit down, he looks up to me, small, cordial smile on his face. 

“You don’t mind, do you?” I ask, trying to sound genial. I don’t want everyone to hate me just yet. 

He shakes his head slowly and puts the bookmark into the book. “I’m Jon…Walker.” He seems uncomfortable saying his whole name, like it’s too big for his persona. He chuckles awkwardly while his face gets red. “Sorry, my friend, she told me tell everyone my whole name so that they’d remember it, but I sound kind of stupid.” 

I pull on a smile, feeling a little out of the joke but not wanting to be rude. “In that case, I’m Brendon Urie," I say, my eyes roaming the rest of the bus of boisterous kids. “So, why aren’t you, um, you know, talking to everyone else?” 

He motions to the book. “It’s just getting to the good part,” he shrugs noncommittally, lazy motions somehow personifying his laid back attitude. “Plus, I figure they’ll all learn about me sooner or later. Well, that is, unless I get voted off the first week.” 

It surprises me how he just brings up the game so swiftly. I know that’s why we’re all here, but it seems strange to talk about how we’re all pinned against each other. Jon’s my competition, whether I want to acknowledge it or not. If I want to have any chance in the music industry, I need to win, and that means beating all of these other people around me. 

“Honestly,” I start, deciding that Jon will probably be a good ally in this. “They usually vote off the most dramatic person the first week.”

Jon seems to take this as a compliment, a small smile falling on his lips. He looks away from me and observes the bus. “It’ll probably be him,” 

I look over in the direction he’s staring at to find a black haired guy, very apparently trying to chat up the girls around him. He’s got his left sleeve rolled up, pointing to the various tattoos on his arm. The girls all giggle loudly, very subtly touching his shoulder and showing interest in the way you see girls do every season. They always try to get the guys to fall for them so that they will forfeit the competition so their undying love will not perish. Suffice to say, there aren’t many relationships that last from this show. 

I’ve got the upper hand in that aspect. I won’t fall for the girls, mainly because I’m not exactly interested in them, but more so for the fact I have a boyfriend at home. Shane’s sweet. He somehow deals with my antics, he knows my boundaries, and lets me crash at his apartment when I have fights with my parents. Before I left, he kissed me on the cheek and told me he was going to watch every week. We made an agreement that I wouldn’t tell the world I was gay because everyone knows that’s how you kill a career in the entertainment business. 

“I’ll let you get back to the book, okay?” I say, trying not to sound like I’m blowing him off. “Guess I’ll go introduce myself, or something.” 

He nods, picking his book up. I take a deep breath and then walk up to the black haired guy. He’s now got both of his shirt sleeves pulled up, more inked skin exposed. I sit down in one of the vacant seat next to the group. They all eye me. I’m curious to know what they all think of me. 

“I’m Brendon Urie,” I decide to take Jon’s advice. 

The guy holds out his hand, eyes hard as I meet his gaze. He’s trying to intimidate me. “Pete Wentz," he says, voice much more kind than his eyes. It’s probably for the girls. 

The girls introduce themselves afterwards, giving me long looks. For some reason, they seemed interested in me. I just assume they’re trying to size me up. 

“What do you specialize in?” Pete asks me, everyone looking at me. 

I pause, not sure what that entails. “Like instrument?” I clarify, my face getting hot. Pete nods, obvious impatience on his face. “Guitar.” I say quickly, not really thinking. 

I can play quite a slew of instruments, but guitar was the first. Both of my parents played so we had several around the house. One day I just picked an acoustic up and fiddled with it enough until my parents found me and started teaching me. Instead of going to dances and the movies, I stayed in my room writing extremely angsty music, picking up the vital instruments to have a full band sound. 

Pete kind of scoffs at this information. “Original, really," he mutters, obviously not impressed. “I play bass.” 

The girls around us chime in with what they do. Most of them say they sing. A slightly jealous part of me hurts, wishing that I was a decent singer. Not everyone is cut out to be the lead singer though, and this show caters to those people too. They kind of expect you to be good at everything but they don’t mind if you’re not. 

“I can’t wait to meet the celebs,” one girl gushes, a finger twirling a strand of strawberry blonde hair. 

“They’re going to be dicks, they always pick the douche bags for this show,” Pete rolls his eyes. “Remember season two when they had Enrique Iglesias? He was a dick and you know it.” 

“He’s so hot, so it’s okay,” another girl says, the others following in their girly laughs. 

I try not to look too disgusted as Pete goes, “I bet the really big douche this season is going to be the one who wears the makeup.” 

I freeze up as the girls all swoon around me. I could easily join in them because I just might, maybe, have the slightest crush on Ryan Ross. It’s harmless and nothing to worry about. I can’t let it get to me in the game. I’ve only jerked off to the thought of him maybe two times, which really isn’t a big deal. He’s just someone that I think is attractive, and all the girls obviously think the same. There’s still a little part of me that gets distressed. These girls are all pretty and Ryan is pretty and pretty people tend to take sides. 

“I can’t wait to meet him,” one girl says, face dreamy. “God, we’re going to be able to hang out with him,” 

I get really close to flailing with all the rest of the girls because she’s right. All the celebrities do hang out with us and treat us like friends even if they decide who goes home at the end of the week. The thought of hanging out with Ryan Ross makes me a little giggly. Shane laughed when I joked about putting the moves on Ryan, but I know I need to befriend him. I need to befriend all the judges. 

“I’m gonna get close with Patrick,” Pete says indignantly, obviously not enjoying the attention swing from him to Ryan Ross. “And Spencer.” 

Before anyone can elaborate any further on the judges, the bus stops. Instead of flutters of excited talk like I’d expect, the bus goes eerily quiet and no one moves. Then, obviously realizing that we’ve stopped for good, mostly everyone rushes to the windows to see the mansion. This is when the squealing starts again, the girls promptly running their hands through their hair and fidgeting with their clothes. I find my way to a window to see a beautiful manor, stretching further than the windows allow me to. I crane my neck to see everything, but my eyes stop when I see a lineup of bored looking individuals. 

“Holy shit,” I mutter to myself, staring at Ryan Ross for the first time in person. 

“I know right, sick place, huh?” Jon says from right next to me. 

I nod, hoping he actually thinks I’m gawking at our new home instead of Ryan. The manager reins us outside, telling us to leave our bags behind. We all gather a few safe feet away from the proper musicians. They all seem rather nervous about our arrival. They probably assume we’re going to smell them while they sleep and steal their belongings and sell them on E-Bay. Crazier things have happened though. 

I just then realize that there is a camera crew all holding up different devices. I get a little nervous, realizing that this is the first time I’ll be on TV. This will be the first glimpse of Brendon Urie that America will get to see. I have a strong urge to fix my hair or push up my glasses, but I stop myself. They’ll see me when I’ll wake up in the morning, so I’ll figure I look pretty good now considering I look like I just got hit by a car when I wake up. 

Collin informs us that he’s going to introduce all the celebrities and he wants us to be quiet, and to be aware that there are cameras on us as well. He goes to the front of the line, cue cards in his hand. I’m assuming they’re blank, or they have vague information on them. 

“First, we have Victoria Asher, lead singer of the band Paper Trails.” 

She’s got brown tresses that fall down her side, a simple summer dress on her skinny frame. I’m not a big fan of Paper Trails, but I did listen to their music briefly when I found out she was a judge. They have a pop feel, mainstream lyrics and a mix of synthesizers and organic instruments, something that is popular with a majority of music fans. 

"Next, we have the duo, drummer Spencer Smith and guitarist Ryan Ross, of Affinity.”

Spencer’s got shaggy hair, reaching past his ears. He seems excited to be here, big smile falling onto his face. He’s dressed casually, hoodie and jeans on. Ryan, though, isn’t similar. His hair looks expertly styled, all the right pieces sticking up. Instead of jeans, he has on pinstripe trousers and a button up shirt. He doesn’t seem to enjoy the looks that everyone gives him. Even if he’s famous, he doesn’t seem comfortable with the eyes and cameras in his direction. 

Affinity is a lot more edgy than Paper Trails. It has a punk sound but then some, almost like Nirvana mixed with The Rolling Stones. There’s really no electronic sounds, like drum beats or synthesizers, only big guitar parts and the bass parts that rival Joy Division songs. I’ve been a fan for a few years, my friend lending me their debut CD. It’s a little unnerving to be right in front of them. 

“This is Hayley Williams, lead singer of All In Your Head.” 

She’s wearing a dress similar to Victoria’s, except hers is a little longer and less girly. She’s got red hair and green eyes that make her look unique compared to the others. Her band is more pop-centric, picking up radio time like Paper Trails. They usually always have the popular bands, the ones who have the over-sexualized lead singer and jaunty lyrics. 

“And last, but not least, here is Patrick Stump, lead singer of Haywire.” 

I didn’t know who he was until I Googled him. He’s from some obscure, underground hipster band that has intensely loyal fans. I listened to their music, expecting to find semi-decent songs with questionable lyrics, but I got a clean voice with interesting musical styling. I know I need to get to know him so I can get better at writing music, Patrick obviously a practiced musician. 

“Now that you know the people you’re staying with, and who are voting for you to stay or go, it’s time to check out your new home!" Collin tells us, faux excitement.

Everyone puts on big smiles, myself included. Basically, the room situation is similar to America’s Next Top Model in the way that they usually don’t put the correct number of beds in the house. I knew this already, myself having worn a zipper sweatshirt so that I could place it on the bed so no one else can take it. I’ve watched this show every season so I know all the things I need to know. 

Before I realize it, we’re allowed to go in, almost all the contestants rushing in. The celebrities walk a little faster, minus Spencer who runs ahead of the group, letting out a loud noise of triumph. The house is just as majestic on the inside, high ceilings and ornate decorating. The furnishing is sophisticated, modern and white. 

I go in the direction no one else is, pushing open a pair of heavy doors. I stop in my tracks, my head reeling. Inside the large room is like a more elaborate Guitar Center, instruments everywhere. There’s a wall of guitars and basses, three drum sets booths, string instruments, and a wall of amps with pedals set out in front of them. I can’t help but to stare at the sweet scene, the beauty almost blinding me. I go over and run my hand over the neck of an upright bass, excitement buzzing in me.

I blink and realize that I need to find a room. I start cursing as I turn around and find an entrance to a room with already taken beds, some of the girls just relaxing and talking. There’s a door to another room and I rush over, finding one empty bed. I sigh and start taking off my sweater. Right before place it on the bed, someone makes an agitated noise from the door. 

I whirl around to find Ryan Ross staring at me, his hands in the pocket of his slacks. He eyes the bed, an obvious, silent question shining in his eyes. I really want the bed, knowing that there is no way there’s another bed open by now. I might slump my shoulders a little as I put back on my sweatshirt. 

“Yeah, sure, go ahead,” I give in, knowing that this could come in handy later if someone is trying to vote me off. I hope that Ryan remembers this. “I’ll just go on the couch.” 

As I leave the room, bitterly hoping that Ryan could at least spark up a conversation and we could become friends, but he doesn’t. He quietly thanks me under his breath as I leave, but I don’t really acknowledge it, which is definitely a douche bag move, but now I’m going to be the idiot who got distracted and didn’t find a bed. God, I’m going to be the laughing stock of the show already. 

***

After a somewhat ordinary night, everyone keeping to themselves, not yet going into the music room, all of us obviously waiting until the first competition to show off our skills, we all wind down for bed. I manage to keep my away, my fingers craving to try everything out. Instead, I properly introduce myself to everyone, skipping Ryan, since I’m half-nervous and half-scared to confront him after I almost took his bed. I didn’t see him all night either. He’s always been reserved, being the one member in his band who is quiet and never talked much in their interview. 

Usually when the last person doesn’t get a bed, they just end up sharing with someone else, but no one offers. I’m too nervous to ask anyone because if I ask a girl, the show will find a way to pair us together, which I don’t want, and I don’t want to ask a guy because I don’t want to wake up with morning wood when there are cameras everywhere. Instead, I find myself trying to get comfortable on the couch. I don’t have any blankets, also not having the balls to ask someone for their sheets or something. It got exceptionally colder and I only packed boxers for sleeping but they seems too revealing for the living room. 

I suffer silently, rolling over occasionally, hoping to get comfortable. I can hear the sound of a clock ticking out the seconds and I tap my finger on my thigh with the tempo. Everyone’s asleep by now, the house the quietest I’ve heard it. I wait another twenty minutes until I jump up, too frustrated to sleep. I make my way to the music room, not sure if this is a good idea. I can’t help the way my feet lead me to the double doors though. 

The room has the kind of lighting that you can turn up and down to your liking. I keep it low, walking up the string instruments. I find a cello and pull a stool next to it. Once I’m comfortable, I put my fingers on the neck of the instrument. The strings feel heavier than I remember. I haven’t played in at least a year. I start plucking, not wanting to use the bow because it might wake people up. I’m glad to see it’s in tune, professionals probably having spent quite a bit of time tuning all the instruments in the room. I pluck quietly, remember bits of songs I once spent so longer playing. 

I play for a while, eventually closing my eyes and playing random notes. I do what sounds right and hum along. I think a little about the cameras that are undeniably watching me, but I don’t care that much. They’ll probably just skip over this part and ignore my strange antics. 

I look up to find someone staring at me from the doorway. I still one last low note resonating through the room. Ryan eyes me curiously, looking a little embarrassed. I don’t know how long he was standing there, but it must have been long enough. I’m not sure what to say, so we just end up in some kind of staring match. 

He breaks away first. “Sorry, I didn’t think anyone would be up,” he mutters, looking down to the ground. 

I stand up putting the cello away. “It’s fine. I should probably get to bed. Um, goodn—“ 

“You can use my sheets. If you want. I won’t need them," Ryan says quickly, eyes now scanning the guitar rack. “And a pillow. You can take one of the pillows.

I try to hold back the smile that begs to go on my face. “Thanks,” I finally spit out, trying not to sound like an over-excited fan. 

I exit the room, a small smile slipping onto my lips. I look down to the ground, hoping it’s too dark for the cameras to see. I find his bed and see the sheets already stripped from the mattress. They’re on the ground in a twisted pile, a pillow on top of them. I take them, another smile on my face. I go back to the living room and feel better with a blanket of sorts and something to rest my head on. I get comfortable, finally feeling sleep wash over me. 

I fall asleep to the faint noise of someone fidgeting with a cello, inexpert hand experimenting with the strings. It makes me smile again.


	2. WEEK 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so hey, sorry for posting the first chapter and then leaving it on standby. i got caught up working on my non-fanfiction but now that i'm done with that, i've started working on the fic again. i wrote a few chapters in advance so that the updates wouldn't be late too. so i hope you enjoy this and feel free to tell me what you think in the comments and i'll make sure to reply this time. thanks. also, i'm updating every friday from here on out.

WEEK 1

Having arrived at the house on a Sunday, the show really starts the next morning. Before the cameras get turned on, they wake us up at five and tell us the basic rules. They talk about things that could get us kicked out of the house, specifically about fighting and, since some of us are minors, underage sex. They pass around little sheets of paper so we can write down things we’ll need while we’re in the house, like bathroom things and what we want to eat. I write down ingredients to make sandwiches. I’m not much of a chef and my mother isn’t exactly here to make me food. They also give us little boxes to attach to our pants. They’re for the microphones to pick us up better. It feels strange hanging off my sweatpants, but I figure I’ll get used to it. 

They tell us to “prepare” for our first competition, which is really more of a warning for the girls. Usually the first two weeks are silly games that satirize the musician lifestyle. It’s usually the weeks they weed off the immature people or the boring ones. They have set competition dates though. Week three is always where they change your hair and give you new clothes and then you go and do a photo shoot. That’s when they vote off the person who cries the most. The last week, when there are two people left, they have you write a proper song and then preform it in an arena. 

I don’t want to think that far ahead just yet. I stay grounded on the task that is today. I can only imagine whatever competition they have planned for us today is slightly degrading, so the producers can get a few laughs from the audience before they make us do serious stuff. In usual tradition, the celebrities have to play too, but really only so they can get a closer eye to judge us with. It’s still kind of funny to watch actual accomplished musicians do silly tasks they should already know how to do. 

I slum around the kitchen and wait for them to call us to the basement where they hold all the competitions. People file in and out for about an hour. They grab things from the cupboards. Most of them ignore me, but some make idle chit-chat. Jon shows up, making himself a dry bowl of cereal. He sits down next to me at the large circle. 

“You excited then?” he asks, mouth full of Captain Crunch. 

“Kinda nervous,” I admit quietly. “I mean, it’s going to be stupid.” 

Jon nods, looking down to his cereal. “I just hope I don’t get voted off in the first week,” he tells me, giving me a boyish smile.

“It’s going to be one of those girls,” I tell him sagely. “One of them that can only sing and can’t play guitar for shit. It’s usually easy to tell who those girls are.” 

Jon seems to take this as good news. I wonder if he’s watched the show religiously like me. I can sort of tell he hasn’t by the way he’s the only one who seems out of the loop on a lot of stuff. I’m slightly worried for him. The people who don’t look completely determined never win. I guess he’s just one less person to worry about. 

Someone else walks into the room. I don’t remember his name, but he acknowledges Jon and me. I vaguely remember him telling me that he was an actor on the side, but he’d much rather do music. After fixing himself something to eat, he sits across from us. 

“Hey guys,” he says cautiously, almost as if he’s unsure we should be talking. 

“What’s up, Alex?” Jon greets him. 

Oh, right, Alex Greenwald. I remember thinking of Where’s Waldo when I talked to him. I’m bad with names. He’s got long black hair, curling slightly at the ends. He has the laid back attitude that Jon has. He’s got an accent of sorts, words thick with something unfamiliar to my ears. Even if he looks like he could be vicious, he seems friendly enough right now. 

“Preparing myself for this evidently rigorous competition,” he jokes, twirling noodles onto his fork. He pushes a strand of hair behind his ear and says, “Did you guys get any sleep last? I couldn’t at all. I couldn’t stop thinking.” 

Jon shrugs. “Kind of,” he mutters. “My mom made me get up entirely too early.” 

They both look towards me, awaiting my reply. Alex starts laughing though. He coughs into his fist and then goes, “Weren’t you the one who didn’t get a bed?” 

It doesn’t sound malicious, but it still hurts. Of course I was the one who didn’t get a bed. I try to make it look like it doesn’t really bother me. “Just a bed, you know. Besides, the couch isn’t bad.” 

“Who gave you the sheets?” Jon asks casually, obviously having seen my makeshift room. 

I try not to fidget. “Uh, Ryan.” 

At the same time, both of them stop eating, eyes widening. Jon places down his bowl of cereal, face serious. “Ryan Ross? Like, he just gave them to you? Did you ask him?” he probes me like I’m delusional, which I just might be. 

“Well, we both walked into the last bedroom at the same time so I let him have the bed,” I say indifferently, not wanting to make this sound like a big deal. It’s a big deal for me though, so hiding my emotions is difficult. “In return he gave me the sheets.” 

Alex lets out one of those impressed whistles and goes back to his noodles. “Kinda jealous, man,” he mutters. “I mean, you’re already cozying up to the judges. I guess by accident, but still.” 

I look down to the table and feel myself blush. I knew it was a good thing last night, but it seems even better to have people know Ryan did that for me. It almost makes me want to scream it to the house; brag all about how Ryan Ross is just carelessly giving his things to me. I know it’s probably not a big deal to Ryan, but everyone will be jealous. I’m not that kind of person though.

Suddenly, over the intercom system that runs through the house, one of the producers calls us down to the basement. I lock eyes with Jon right before getting up, both of us most likely rubbing off our anxious attitudes on each other. I oh-so calmly walk to the basement, watching as everyone else rushes. There’s a flight of stairs and then you can see a glimpse of the big open area. They line us up together, again separating us from the celebrities. 

There appears to be three stations set up, assorted things littering the floor. When I see some guitars on a table, my eyes instantly close in on them. My fingers itch to play and show people what I can do. 

“For our first competition, we planned a simple one. You’ll be put into three groups and be timed doing three activities that you would do if you were on tour. The team that has the lowest combined time is the winner,” Collin explains to us. “The first of the three activities is just changing the strings of three guitars. You better hope you have someone on your team who knows. If you don’t you have to figure it out. The next one is what we call ‘drum Tetris’, which is essentially putting a drum set away and then fitting them all into a confined area. It’s like putting things away in a small van, simple stuff, guys. The last one is untangling cords, which is probably the trickiest.” 

I nod along as he tells us what we’re going to be doing. It seems simple, but with my luck, I’ll probably fuck it all up. I look over the three piles of tangled cords, a mess of black and white wires all together. There are three drum sets, presumably brought down from the upstairs music room, set up with their corresponding boxes next to each piece. 

A few other producers pull us together in groups. I hope in that fan-driven part of me that I’ll be in a group with Ryan. Unfortunately, I watch as he gets moved to another side of the room. Victoria Asher is the only celebrity that gets put in our group. She helpfully tells us she’s never put away drums before. I stand awkwardly with my group as we wait to start. They put us at the drum Tetris station first. I play drums very mediocrely. I used to be in jazz band and they needed someone to play drum set, so when the director offered to teach someone, I jumped on it. I’ve never put drums away before though. This doesn’t seem too awful. 

I barely realize that they’ve let us start, but I jump to it, grabbing a snare drum and finding the proper box for it. Once I have the lid on, the other six people in my group have gotten the rest done. There’s a metal platform that we’re supposed to put the things away on. I wait for someone to do something first, not sure if we’re going to have a game plan. Everyone just places the bins in no special way, and as expected, they all don’t fit. 

“Flip those on their sides,” I tell the group, deciding if no one is going to be a team captain of sorts, I might as well do the job. “Then put these…here,” 

I grab people’s boxes, everyone else becoming submissive to my doings except for Victoria. She seems to have gotten the gist and helps me move the circle bins on one side and square ones on the other. Without much help from the others, we finish, someone telling us a number of how long it took, but I don’t hear it. The guitars have already been strung and the only group left is unwinding the cords. Everyone watches them, the team being the one with Ryan. 

I really only watch him. He’s seated on the ground, the start of one of the cords in his hand. Everyone in his group is yelling at each other unhelpfully. Ryan’s eyes scan the mess and then he starts unraveling his one cord, successfully getting it out without the help of the others. They don’t seem to notice. He starts with another, getting that one untangled shortly after staring at the pile. The team seems to catch on, working things apart the same way. 

They tell us to switch, and I can hear Spencer shouting something to his group about how he plays drums so this will be easy. Spencer doesn’t seem much like his band mate, Ryan. Our next challenge is the cord untangling. I do what Ryan was, finding the start of a white cord and then following it through the pile, not yanking too roughly. One easily comes out. I smile and wonder if Ryan’s done this before. Most likely. 

We finish that round easily, our team finishing much quicker than the last, but still the last group to finish. Ryan’s group just did the guitar strings. I bet he was good at that, himself being a guitar player. He seems calm unlike the rest of his group that seem apprehensive as they rush to the last station. I snap out of my trance. Staring isn’t usually a good thing. 

The guitar station is easy for me. I’m sure almost everyone in our group can change strings, but I’m the first to step up to an acoustic guitar. I fiddle with the bridge pins and manage to get them out. Someone hands me the low E string so I start unwinding the string. They didn’t give us a winder. I sigh as I rush to finish. Victoria is at work on an electric guitar, and some girl who I think is named Katelyn is working on another one. 

Once all the groups are done, we all look worn out from pretty simple tasks. I’m sure the cameras are soaking it up. Collin herds into straight lines again and then clears his throat intentionally slow. It’s maybe just a little agonizing.

“Third place for the first competition goes to team two,” 

I watch as Spencer’s team all look down in shame, gloomy looks on their faces. Spencer still seems overjoyed by this. He tries to high five the person next him. “You guys, we start off weak and then get strong!” he tries to explain to the group. 

“Second place goes to team one,” 

While second place isn’t first, it still feels good to know our team wasn’t last. I smile at my group, Victoria also seeming content with this. She just shrugs and offers the group a shy smile. We all quiet down right away, looking towards team three with big eyes. 

They’re all jumping and high-fiving and hugging. Ryan’s smiling boyishly at Spencer. I look over to see Spencer flipping him off coyly, just sneaky enough for the cameras not to catch. They remind me of brothers or something. Ryan does finally laugh with someone on his team, exchanging a loose hug with a girl who seems ecstatic about the prospect of touching bodies with him. 

“The team that won gets a little prize,” Collin tells us once the room grows quiet again. “Everyone on team three gets a gourmet meal prepared for them.” 

Everyone on team three starts cheering, and the rest of the contestants seem forlorn. Sometimes they give the losing teams some kind of a punishment but they didn’t. I figure it’s a reason to celebrate. 

***

On Tuesday, you can tell that people are itching to play instruments. All of us are walking around tapping erratic tempos on our thighs or humming songs that no one knows. Spencer is the first to crack, though. When we all notice that the music room’s door is ajar, everyone is quick to see who it is. We all find Spencer Smith on the drum set playing something that sounds like a chorus of a punk-rock song. 

I look around the room to find everyone just staring at Spencer. Ryan looks like he wants to join, his head softly nodding to the tempo, but he doesn’t. Pete is the one who cracks next. He grabs a bass from the wall rack and plugs it into an amplifier next to the kit Spencer is playing on.

More people seem to step forward after that. I hold back, not wanting to show off my guitar skills just yet. I’ve had lessons since I was young and I’ve been playing since I was young. I’ve gotten good, and even I know this isn’t the time to show off. I also don’t want to play the instruments I know how to play because people usually get intimidated and try to get you eliminated if you’re too good. 

By now, everyone’s gotten comfortable on an instrument. The room is a frenzy of noise, two drum sets playing at different tempos. Amplifiers are turned up so high that they’re starting to fuzz out. The two grand pianos are occupied but barely audible. It seems like a dream of mine. Here is the cesspool of musicians, all yearning for the same dream. Yet, I don’t join them. Instead, I turn around and explore the house.

The mansion is lush, someone obviously having prepared everything delicately. There are framed photos in most rooms showing past winners performing. This season’s house theme seems like a mix up of Jay Gatsby’s house and a ritzy hotel. It’s a little mundane compared to most seasons, but it’s better than any place I’ve ever been to.

I look around, finding myself in a miniature gym. I decide that’s it’s probably best for me not to mess around on the treadmill. Next, I find myself in the pantry, assortments of food surrounding me. I grab a bag of chips and head outside. They have a copious amount of lawn chairs that encircle the pool. Everything out here seems untouched. Instead of privacy fences, there are just trees lining the perimeter. 

I notice someone sitting against a tree, a book shoved in front of their face. As I near whoever it is, I realize it’s Ryan, which isn’t too surprising. When I casually sit down across from, I see that the book is Oliver Twist. He looks up slowly. 

“I don’t think I ever introduced myself,” I mutter, feeling slightly silly for putting this off for so long. 

“You’re Brendon,” he says quickly. His face then reddens and he drops his eye contact with me. “I’m a judge so I, you know, have to know everyone.” 

I let part of myself get giddy with the thought that Ryan knows my name, but I do know that he’s right and he does need to know everyone else’s. He seems observant though, like he didn’t really need to have a list or something to memorize who everyone was. He actually seems as introverted as all the interviewers say he is. 

I nod, unsure of what to say next. I point to his book and stupidly say, “Charles Dickens,” and then I realize that I need to back that up with something. “I read A Tale of Two Cites in sophomore year.” 

“I think I read it in sophomore year too,” he tells me, bringing a hand up to his hair. I would characterize it as a nervous mannerism but I don’t know him well enough to make the call.

“Yeah, my teacher was one of those psychotic, old English buffs who knew everything inside and out,” I explain, hoping maybe I can make him laugh. “She retired the year after me, but I think she would‘ve taught that class from her hospital bed.” 

I don’t get the reaction I was hoping for. Ryan’s features stay neutral when he says, “My mom is an English teacher.” 

Way to go, Brendon.

I try to laugh it off, make it not look like I was just bashing all English teachers. “Well, I doubt your mom was like that women.”

Ryan cracks one of those polite smiles, eyes edging back down to the book in his lap. “I think she was a pretty strict teacher.”

“You think? Did you never have her?” 

“She didn’t teach where I went to school.” 

I feel like maybe I’ve watched an interview where Ryan mentioned his mother’s profession, but nothing specific. He does seem to fit the role of an English teacher’s son though. He’s got the quiet, relaxed veneer and wise-sounding words. Plus, his lyrics are easily the focal point of his band’s music. 

“So why aren’t you playing with everyone else?” I ask conversationally when an awkward air surrounds us. 

“I could ask you the same,” he says softly. 

“Very true,” I say, exchanging another round of smiles with Ryan. I try not to show how happy it makes me. Jesus, all I want to do is make him smile. 

Some people come outside, obviously having left the music room frenzy. They’ve all got on swimsuits and take leaps into the pool. The girls stay behind and whine about it being too cold. 

I stand up, realizing that Ryan probably doesn’t want me breathing down his neck. “Well, I’ll let you get back to your fairytale,” I say.

“Okay, bye…Brendon,” he says slowly, like he’s testing out my name. “Thanks again for the room. It was probably really selfish of me to take advantage of my, you know—but thanks.” 

“Nah, man, it’s no big deal. Besides, the sheets were nice.” 

We smile at each other one last time and I force myself to walk away. I head towards the pool, feeling exultant by my exchange with Ryan. My smile is still on my face as I jump into the pool, all my clothes still on. I’m sure the cameras will love it. 

***

It’s not until voting day that I realize how stupid I sounded when I was talking to Ryan. He doesn’t seem like the talking type, yet I forced him to make small talk with me. I can only hope he doesn’t vote me off just yet so he doesn’t have to do it anymore. 

For judging, they have the celebrities sit around a circle table and pretty much gossip until they find someone who doesn’t seem good enough for the show. This sometimes involves them being shown clips from either the house that they all weren’t there for or clips from challenges. This means that I’ll probably spend hours watching each episode to see what they said about me. 

They make us go into the basement where we held the competition in. When we get there, the place is decorated in a seventies theme. Everything is in bold colors, the couches orange and the curtains blue. There are posters for bands like Led Zepplin and The Beatles lining the walls and lava lamps glow in the corner. 

It all seems impressive to me as I sit down next to who I’ve learned is Gabe. He’s quite loud but still seems more mature than Pete. Unfortunately, they’ve formed a tag team of sorts. I’m kind of worried but they both seem friendly to me. I guess I shouldn’t be scared just yet. 

Earlier in the day, they brought us individually into an attic room with a fake set put out. They direct us to sit in front of a camera and talk about what’s going on. Usually they prompt us with questions about certain events, like competitions or moments in the house. They even showed me a clip of Ryan and me talking outside. I felt a little ridiculous trying to come up something to say. People don’t know I’m gay and it’s not like Ryan is, so there is no reason for me to be nervous about accusations. They’ll just think we’re friends and nothing else. 

“It has been your first week in the house,” Collin tells us now. “How has it been?” 

We all just nod and say “good” because it’s not like we’re going to say what we’re actually thinking. Either way, Collin seems appeased by this. 

“Well, the judges have all discussed the fate of the competitors,” he says ominously. I get anxious just then, not really sure of my standing. Anyone could be voted off. “We’re going to call you up one by one to give back your rings. One of you will not receive yours and you’ll have to pack your bags and leave the house immediately.” 

They give us diamond rings, not fitted, and it’s supposed to symbolize our spots in the house. When you get told you can stay for another week, you give it back until the following week rolls up. If you go home, you get to keep it. I’ve heard a lot of people pawn them though. I’ll probably keep mine, but only if I get mine back on the last week. 

Every week they have one of the celebrities announce everyone’s names dramatically. I try my best not to laugh as Spencer steps in front of us with a piece of paper in his grip, eyes scanning through what is most likely a list of names. He hands the paper to someone running the set, the same person who put us into perfect rows, and smiles apprehensively. 

"Katie,” he starts, holding out the first ring box. 

A small girl with long braided hair walks up and puts away her ring and steps to the side by the judges. She looks ecstatic and I can’t find it in myself to not be ridiculously jealous. Spencer keeps going, announcing more names. I watch as Pete and Gabe go up back to back, the producers obviously enjoying their tag team strategy. 

I barely notice when I get called, my thoughts thinking of how Gabe and Pete could easily dominate the game and trick all the judges into their game. Someone pushes me forward and I as I place my ring away, Spencer gives me a questionable look. I smirk and Crystal, a girl I’ve really only talked to twice, has her arms open for a hug. Oh yeah, I forgot that everyone here gets emotional about judging days. I hug her and then when Mikey gets called next, I offer him a hug. 

The bottom two stand in front of us, their faces looking traumatized. I know one of them is Alex and the other is a girl who I don’t even know. She’s probably quiet and no one was interested by her. Spencer ends up calling out Alex’s name. We all watch with more or less fake sad faces as she goes to hug Spencer, face already littered with tears. She hugs all the judges, each of them looking a tad uncomfortable except for Hayley. 

After the girl is gone, having to go pack her things and get out before we can go back upstairs, Collin walks up to the camera, a smile embossing his face. “Stay tuned for next week!” 

I hear Spencer let out a howl and Crystal tries to push me into another hug. I have a feeling this won’t be my last hug in this house.


	3. WEEK 2

WEEK 2

 

I bring my right hand up to the side of my head, making a gun with my fingers. I face the wall where there is a visible camera sticking out from the top of the cabinets. I pull the trigger and close my eyes. God, the female viewers better like me. They better be floored by my dry humor. 

More shouting erupts, Heather and Rachelle now tracking into the living room. It’s been a long day, the two of them on and off fighting since two in the morning. Someone stole someone else’s swimsuit and there is no way someone is going to forgive the other someone. Or something like that. I’ve been somehow tangled into the fight, since I’m now rooming with the two bitches since the girl who was originally in their room got voted off last week.

Spencer comes in from the living room, shaking his head with disgust. “Jesus,” he mutters, getting himself a glass of water. He looks over to me at the kitchen table, an empty notebook in front of me. “They are not paying me enough for this.” 

I laugh. “At least you’re getting paid.” 

Spencer comes and sits across from me, obviously having decided that I’m not that bad. “I have no idea what your name is,” he says, narrowing his eyes like he’s trying to remember. “They’re trying to get me to remember all these fuckers’ names and, honest to God, there is too many of you.” 

“I’m Brendon Urie,” I say, once again letting my last name drop. It’s starting to sound better and more fluid each time I let it out. 

“Oh!” he nods, leaning forward a little. “You’re couch kid.” 

I try not to look annoyed. “That’s me,” I shrug my shoulders. 

It appears to be a running joke to make fun of me for being the one without a bed, even now that I do have one. It bothers me but I figure everyone will actually remember me for something. Couch Kid isn’t really the reputation I wanted, but it’ll have to do. 

“Yeah, Ryan gave you his bedding. I’m surprised he did that. He’s usually the little princess about everything. You should have saw him when we were still in van,” he rolls his eyes but still smiles, maybe having a nostalgic relapse. He frowns suddenly. “Am I bragging?” 

“That’s usually what judges do,” I say. 

“Very true. So, what do you play?” he asks me, only vague interest brimming in his eyes. 

I ponder slightly on what to say. “A little of everything. But mainly guitar.”

I decide to impress him a little but I don’t want to go overboard and start ticking off all I can play. He seems impressed, nodding. “Can you play drums?” 

I nod, hoping maybe he’ll like me more because I play his instrument. He does seem perkier, nodding his head in the direction out of the kitchen. “We should go play together. You can show me what you got.” 

“Yeah, that sounds good.” 

I told Shane I would call him in a little bit, but I can imagine he’ll understand. He wants me to win, and he’s told me this since the day he helped me make my stupid audition video. He even helped me edit it, using his nice computer to make everything seamless and professional. It only seems fair for me to call him, but I still nod to Spencer.

We stand up and I don’t get nervous as we walk to the music room. The only time I’ve ever felt nervous was when I was eight and I had a solo in the church choir. Now, though, I know that if I’m nervous I’ll mess up. If I don’t think about it, I don’t even think of what I’m playing, then I’ll do my best. I’m almost certain I’ll impress Spencer even if I’ve only played drums in jazz band. I’ve spent just a few too many lunches in the band room though. 

Right before we enter the double doors to the music room, Ryan appears in front of us, looking frantic. He’s clutching onto his copy of Oliver Twist, two spiral-bound notebooks, and a few pens. His eyes scan over Spencer and I, flicking away from my figure when I try to make eye contact. 

“Um,” he mutters, handing out a piece of paper to Spencer, obviously trying to make it look like it’s no big deal. “Lyrics, they’re, uh, just lyrics. Alright, bye, guys.” 

I watch as he scampers away, practically jogging to where I remember the gym being. I look back to Spencer who has opened the supposed lyrics and his eyes are reading it quickly, a smile finding his face. He looks up to find me staring, but the note’s handwriting is too small and too far away for me to read. “I’ve kind of got to deal with this,” he holds up the now folded letter. “Can we do this later?” 

“Sure,” I say quickly. 

He smiles then heads off to where Ryan was going. I decide to ignore their strange antics and head for the phone room. Since the show is recorded all the way through, then edited, and then finally put on TV, they let us call our family and friends to talk about how we’re doing. They set up a little room with a phone and there is always a camera in there. Some people like to pretend that they don’t know and then look scandalized when they figure out that the world heard them crying to their mothers. 

Shane and I discussed how this will go. He’s just my good buddy, Shane Valdez, a family friend since I was young. My mom thought it was silly that I wasn’t just going to tell the world that I’m gay, but I know what that will turn into. If people know I’m gay that’s all they’re going to talk about it endlessly and people will have a reason to hate me. I don’t want to tell and I don’t need to tell people either. I’m writing music, not an autobiography. 

He answers on the fourth ring, sounding breathless. “Brendon!” 

I curl up further into the chair, my body instantly feeling more relaxed. I’ve felt on edge the entire time I’ve been in this house, but now I know I can just be myself. Shane won’t judge me like all the rest of the people in the house. “Hey, man,” I say, my low voice sounding loud in the room. “What’s up?” 

“Nothing, nothing,” he mutters. “You, though, what have you been doing? You’re not home yet so it must be going well.” 

I laugh, smiling into the phone. “It’s crazy. These girls, they just fight and fight about the most vapid things. And of course, since I’m their roommate, I have to listen to all of it.” 

Shane laughs, regardless of his lack of information. I tell him everything, to the drive here, to the offer from Spencer. He laughs when I make corny jokes and tells me he’s proud of me. I almost fall into a trance, momentarily forgetting the cameras are there. I want to say I miss him, but I’m afraid it will sound too much like relationship material. 

“Can’t wait to come see you when you win,” Shane whispers into the phone. 

“Hopefully I’ll get there.” 

***

At around noon, people come to herd us downstairs. I find a familiar face in the crowd, Jon happening to be the person I walk alongside with. In the basement, they have a stage set up. Red, velvet curtains skirt across half the room. I look over to the judges for some kind of a clue to what we’re doing because I can imagine they have been informed of what we’re doing today. Hayley and Spencer are smiling at each other and Patrick and Ryan both send each other mutual pained expressions. It doesn’t help me at all.

“Hello,” Collin says, his usually chirpy voice addressing us. “Welcome to your second challenge. This week, our celebrities aren’t the only ones to judge you.” 

There’s a moment of silence, and then the curtains get swooshed away. A crowd full of people is lounging in plastic chairs; it all lined up to look like our audience. It only confuses us more. I notice how they all have baskets under their seats or next to their legs. I can hear all the contestants around me gasp loudly, mostly for the cameras.

“Today, you’ll get to learn about hecklers. As a musician, it’s very important to know how to handle yourself when people try to put you down. So for this competition you will perform one song, with an instrument, voice, or a mix of the two. The crowd will throw food at you and whoever can keep the most poise will win,” Collin tells us like it’ll be simple. 

When auditioning, you’re required to learn a full song and then preform it in your homemade video. I assume that they want us to play that song. The thing is, I stupidly auditioned with Brittany Spears’ “Everytime”. It was funny at the time, when I hoped that they would show it in the opening sequence and people would think I was relatable and fun. Now, though, the thought of singing that song while having food thrown at me does not sound appealing. 

As we’re prepping for the competition, I decide I’ll just sing another song, even if I don’t want to sing at all. They never say anything specific about the performance; they just go around the room and ask us if we’ll need an instrument. I instantly say acoustic guitar even if I’m not sure what I’ll do. I rack my brain thinking off all the songs I know by heart as I put on the stark white tank top and cotton shorts they’ve given us, specifically so they can gauge how much food gets on us. 

“This is a fucking stupid challenge,” Pete says from behind me. I turn around to see a few people listening to him rant. “It just caters to the kids who can sing. No one cares about bass.” 

“Totally not true, man,” Patrick says from across the room, surrounded by Spencer and Ryan. 

“Joy Division,” Ryan says slowly but people seem to ignore him.

“Red Hot Chili Peppers, man!” Spencer yells. “Have you listened to their music? You probably have. Shit ton of bass. And, uh, you know, my own band.” 

I watch as Pete has a slight blush on his face, the only sign of vulnerability he has shown thus far. He slinks down in his chair, looking embarrassed. “Yeah, I guess.”

This makes Spencer smile and go back to talking to Spencer and Ryan. I try not to stare at Ryan but it’s become a habit. I look for what he’s doing now. It’s like I want to do exactly what he does so that maybe I can figure out how he got so famous so young. He looks lanky in his white attire, the tank top only accentuating the way his rib bones poke out a little. He doesn’t seem particularly nervous, but then again, no one really does. 

They finally put us in the front row of the crowd, giving each of us a basket of food now. I look inside while Collin tells us the order. There are tomatoes, which I assumed there would be. There are also little plastic containers. I can’t exactly tell what’s inside of them, but I figure I’ll find out. 

A girl names Marina is first. She goes up to the stage with nothing, but a piano is rolled out for her. I watch as someone puts out a microphone next to it. Looks like we’re all up for a show. She waits to be cued, all of us in the crowd preparing the food. They told us to use the food in a timely manner. In other words, they want for the performer to be doused with food during the entire song. 

Once she has started, her voice actually good, the piano barely noticeable past her high vocal range, I rummage around the basket to find the plastic containers. I smirk to myself as I find a few pieces of cake, frosting and all, stuffed into the container. I pull some out and then, very tragically, aim for her fingers. They covered most of the piano with plastic and even closed the top. 

Marina isn’t too put off by the food. Instead, she keeps playing stronger, the piano gradually growing louder. Her fingers seem to turn into fists on the piano. I throw more food at her as I watch as they slip on the keys. I almost feel guilty for throwing right at her, but this is a competition and I know she’ll do the same. 

Her song finishes and then Gabe goes on stage, going straight to the microphone, no instrument. While he is setting up, they supply us with new baskets. I find cold spaghetti in this one, and Jon giggles from beside me. 

“Some cruel son a bitch made up this challenge,” he mutters just as Gabe starts to sing a horrible rap song. 

It’s a slow day, the competition taking more time behind the scenes than the actual filming part. They have to test microphones and tune guitars and clean off stages. All of the crowd waits patiently, but it just gives me time to think about if I should be nervous or not. When Ryan goes on stage, an acoustic guitar in his grip, he does look nervous. 

I watch he stares at the ground, standing next to a microphone. He only sings in the band occasionally, usually back-ups, but he does have some full songs on later albums. He evidently doesn’t know how to handle center stage, all eyes on him, and when he starts, his voice is shaky and unsure. People throw food at him, even if he is a celebrity. I, on the other hand, pretend that I just have a really bad arm and end up getting chunks of tomatoes a few feet from his microphone stand. 

Spencer goes on after Ryan gets off the stage, Ryan looking disheveled with frosting drying into the dark strands on his head. We’re not allowed to clean ourselves off until the end, after the winner is told. That way, they can get all the people watching the show at home a full view of our food-laden outfits. 

A few more people go on, Pete looking like he was going to punch the next person who throws macaroni and cheese at him. One girl even looks like she’s crying when she gets off the stage, her violin song having been stopped multiple times to wipe away food from the bow. 

I’m the last to be called. I go up on a stage with and I’m handed a slightly sticky guitar. I look past the strings that stick to my fingers, and look out into the crowd. I don’t really think I’m a good singer, despite what people tell me, but I decide I have to at least pretend I’m not nervous. It’s a little intimidating to see all my competitors being supplied with food to throw at me, but, if anything, I am a little hungry from waiting around all day. I decide I’ll at least have fun with this. 

They cue me to play, so I start the opening to my song. I’m playing a Blink-182 song that I performed when I was a freshman for a talent show. I don’t even need to think about the words or where to place my fingers. I go straight to singing, tomatoes instantly being thrown at me. Some food hits my knee, then at my right hand. I drop my pick on accident, having to play with my nail. 

I try to act like this is all some game. I smile as I sing, my voice right on the notes. I hop along to the melody, feeling something cold hit the side of my head. I’m suddenly laughing into the microphone because this is the silliest thing I’ll ever endure in my entire life. Fortunately for me, I’m playing the bridge, which I don’t really need to sing at. I keep strumming, playing the same chords over and over again. 

“Come on!” I yell into the microphone, making the bridge as long as I need it to be. “You can do better than that. Aim for my face!” 

The crowd erupts in laughter, and because I’ve asked for it, they throw food at my face. I instantly open my mouth to catch what tastes like noodles. I chew happily, hearing the crowd laugh at me more. I do force the song to continue and sing the last chorus a few times until I finish, the applause sounding more genuine then the others. 

I bow low, wiping some frosting off the shoulder of my shirt and licking my fingers as seductively as possible, but then end up laughing halfway through. I rush off stage, handing someone the acoustic I was playing, but not before grabbing the pick I dropped and depositing it in my pocket for safekeeping. I figure it’ll be a memento or something. 

Not long after my performance, after the judges have talked, the audience leaves and all of the contestants are put on stage. The judges stand in front of us, food caked on them just as much as us. They’re all smiling at us softly, like they’re proud of how we managed to deal with today’s event so well. 

“We’ve talked it out,” Patrick says, deliberately trying to be slow and teasing. The viewers at home need some suspense. “But we decided that the winner is…Brendon.” 

I instantly react, my mouth falling open and then a quick smile taking its place. Like we’re supposed to do, I walk up to the judges and they all just smile at me as I take a place at the end of their row, Hayley wrapping a tight arm around my torso. I look back to the rest of the contestants, a shit-eating grin on my face. 

“Even if you were a little silly, the song was performed brilliantly and you kept a good attitude to the hecklers,” Patrick says to me. “And, as your prize, you get a five-hundred dollar shopping spree to get some new clothes.” 

Everyone laughs as I look down to what I’m wearing, with its splotches of greasy food marking it. “I don’t know, I was kind of digging this style,” I smirk, hearing more laughter. There’s no way I can’t win this competition. They’re already eating out of the palm of my hand.  
I keep a smile on my face until we’re released to go upstairs and shower. I head back to my room to find my towel and then walk to the bathroom. I pass the phone area, the doors open. It’s been occupied so much lately that I decide to go in, just to call Shane while it’s open. I don’t really mind the food that’s dried on my skin anyways. Talking to Shane sounds great right about now. 

I lock the door behind me, taking off my shirt and sitting down on the ground next to the phone, not wanting to get the couch dirty. I dial his number and wait patiently for him to answer. 

“’Lo?” his voice says. 

“Shane, hey, guess what?” I say, and it’s then that I realize this might not have been the best idea. I win my first competition and then I mysteriously disappear to make a phone call to my “friend” and not even my parents. I’m so goddamn obvious, but I’m not even sure if I care anymore. I’m just high on the win. 

“Hey, Bren, I really only answered because I didn’t want you to think I didn’t care,” he starts. “I’m just kind of—“ There is some muffling sound coming through. “I’m just busy right now and I didn’t want you to get my voicemail. But, yeah, I gotta go, okay? Tell me later. Bye.” 

And just like that, Shane’s line goes dead. I keep the phone up to my ear, the entire euphoria of winning all draining out of my body. He couldn’t spare not even a minute? I suddenly feel melancholy, like maybe I need to cry to get it out of my system. I just miss Shane. I just want to see someone I know. 

I get up from the ground, mulling things over for a bit in the tiny room. I figure that the cameras won’t even care about it. There’s probably stripping girls in a communal shower right now doing things that they’re mothers wouldn’t approve of. Why would they be trained on me, just sitting here in the phone room, sad look even after winning on my face? It’s really nothing special. 

I finally emerge from the room, heading towards the bathroom with my towel finally. Most of the people have cleared out, the one large shower area is empty, a few guys at the sinks. They have a giant shower, big enough that everyone in the house could easily shower in it. It’s glass plated, the material translucent. The cameras can scan over the area without revealing people, which really only is for when people decide it’s time to strip and have fun running through the house. It usually stems from the showers. 

I drop my towel once I’m in the shower, the door closing behind me. I find a corner, cleaning off the food and the day’s events off of me. When I’m finally done, I’m tired. I pull the towel on and let it ride low on my hips as I exit the shower and take my place behind a sink. 

Spencer and Ryan come in, both wearing loose sweats and matching band shirts, but different bands. They’re hair is wet, so they’ve obviously already showered. When they notice me, a toothbrush hanging out of mouth, the Colgate foam falling under my bottom lip, they come over. 

“Congrats, Couch Kid,” Spencer says, holding out a hand for a high five. 

I let go of the grip I have on my toothbrush to high five him, my other hand cautiously holding onto my towel. I try to mumble some kind of thanks, but I just end up spitting all over myself, which I’m sure is attractive. I try to laugh it off as I wipe away the foam on my bare chest. 

“You call him Couch Kid?” Ryan questions softly, looking dumbstruck. 

Spencer starts to laugh, shrugging his shoulder. “He wouldn’t be called that if it wasn’t for you,” he points out. Ryan opens his mouth, like he’s going to defend himself, but nothing comes out. Spencer snickers and then ruffles Ryan’s hair. “It’s okay, little princess.” 

I smile before I spit out my toothpaste. Spencer grabs something from the sink and then exits the bathroom, leaving Ryan and I alone. I look over to him, cocking my hips against the sink so it can hold my towel up while I floss. 

Ryan looks over from the door and to me, honey eyes looking surprised to meet my gaze. “You did a good job today,” he says, promptly looking down to the ground. “It was a tricky thing to do, so, yeah, you—yeah.” 

I’m a little frazzled by his compliment, even if it has quite the struggle to come out of his mouth. I thank him as he leaves the bathroom abruptly, not even grabbing anything. I finish flossing, willing myself not to smile into the mirror. I realize that I’d rather hear Ryan compliment me rather than Shane. I’m just not sure if I should be worried about that. 

***

The rest of the week is fairly uneventful after my shopping spree. I got taken to several stores on Rodeo Drive, but five-hundred dollars doesn’t go very far there. They filmed most of my excursion, even the parts where I laughed at the price tags. When I got back, Rachelle and Heather made me show what I got. They seem impressed, even kind of jealous. I shrugged it off and let them convince me to play getting to know you games with them. 

I don’t call Shane, mainly in fear of not wanting to be clingy. I do end up calling my mom. She says she proud of me and right before hanging up she tells me not to embarrass the family. She probably meant it as a joke, but I have a feeling I won’t be able to come out of this house without shaming someone in my overly religious family.

When we go downstairs for elimination, I don’t worry too much. Since I won the competition and haven’t done anything controversial yet. I just sit down and watch as Hayley starts to announce names. When I get called, I smile and quietly thank Hayley, since that’s what we’re supposed to do, and put away my ring. 

Mikey Way ends up going home. The judges tell him that he doesn’t seem as dedicated, like he really only went on the show because of his brother, Gerard. Before he leaves the room, his brother and him stand in the corner and mumbles things that no one else can hear. Once Mikey has hugged everyone, he leaves to pack his things and Gerard stays in the corner looking forlorn. 

Two down, twelve more to go.


	4. WEEK 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, today I realized that this fic is actually right on schedule with the new season of America's Next Top Model...and I didn't mean for that to happen, but it's kind of cool. Hope everyone reading is enjoying this far, and not too bored. Things will hopefully get more exciting soon ;)

WEEK 3

 

The beat on the drum set sounds more like gunshots than a snare drum. Spencer beating the shit out of it, and I wouldn’t be surprised if the head was beaten in just a little. I’m more cautious on my own, playing slower and rolling my shoulders occasionally. I haven’t played in a while, not since the last jazz festival in January. My hands are a little unsteady, my foot faltering on the bass drum pedal a few too many times. 

Spencer found me and reminded me about how he said we still had to make up the drums session. I was all for it because Rachelle kept bugging me to play truth or dare. There will be a time for truth or dare, but I don’t want to play it just yet. It almost seems like a last hope kind of thing. If the cameras ever get bored, the way to either get voted off or adored by all of America is playing truth or dare.

We’ve been playing drums for a good hour, the room staying relatively empty, only Patrick and William coming into jam for a while on guitars. I stop playing, looking over Spencer, who is head-banging. I watch as his hair flies all over the place, the sticks looking loose in his grip. 

He stops after figuring out that I’ve stopped. “You know, you should talk to Ryan,” Spencer tells me, inspecting his hands. They look red, the callouses on his palms obvious in the light. 

I look up from his hands and try to figure out if he’s mocking me, if he found out about my boyish crush on Ryan. Spencer doesn’t give anything away, though. “Yeah?” I say, not sure what he wants from me. It seems like an odd request. 

Spencer licks his lips and abruptly stops twirling the drumstick in his fingers. “He’s shy,” he tells me. “You probably know that, though. He thinks you’re cool. He just doesn’t know how to tell you. So just, you know, say something about John Lennon or Morrissey in front of him.” 

I nod, still a little confused. “So you’re like his keeper?” 

Spencer smirks, standing up from his stool. “Basically.” I watch as he pulls out a wad of paper from his pocket. He flicks through them until he opens one and reads it. “He’s probably out writing,” he says. “He likes to do it outside, by the—“ 

“The trees? At the back of the yard?” I guess, completely interrupting Spencer. 

“Yeah, actually, that’s where he’ll be.” Spencer looks up, a goofy smile on his face. I can’t read his features like I can with Shane or my parents. He’s just teasing me at this point. 

I follow his instructions, nonetheless. I do find Ryan outside. He’s hunched under a tree, his notebook under his nose, but the pen in his hand isn’t moving at all. I try not to sneak up on him, make sure to kick a few twigs to signal my entrance. He’s observant so he looks up right away. While Spencer said he wanted to talk to me, Ryan doesn’t exactly look excited to see me, but neither does he look upset.

“Spencer, he told me you were out here,” I finally say, sitting across from him like I did the other time. 

Ryan’s face goes red, and I watch as his head snaps down to the open notebook. It’s concealed too well to read, his upper body hunching over it protectively. “God, don’t listen to anything he says, okay? He’s delusional.” 

“I don’t know, he seems cool,” I smile, watching as Ryan’s eyes do slowly look up from the notebook. 

Ryan smirks back, moving the pen he was chewing on from his mouth and closing his notebook. He keeps it at a comfortable distance, part of the binding sticking under his thigh. I try not to dwell on what could be written in it. I have a faint memory of the guys in his band making fun of him because he had a diary, but I doubt this ordinary black notebook, the binding all ragged and pushed flat, could be the one he hides himself away in. 

“You’re only saying that because he’s a judge,” Ryan says, his fingers now fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. 

“I’m a competitor, what can I say?” I shrug. “So, um, do you like The Smiths?” 

Ryan snorts, bringing a hand up to his mouth. “Jesus, did Spencer give you material to lure me in with?” 

“Of course not!” I pretend to look disgusted. “I’m creative, not much unlike Morrissey himself. I’m probably a little arrogant like him too, but the best are.” 

“Yeah? Brendon, do you even know any of their songs?” 

This is the part where I charm Ryan and tell him my extensive knowledge of The Smiths, which I really owe to my mother’s obsession with Morrissey than my own interest. I tell Ryan this, mentioning that my parents are both musicians, but they realized they couldn’t make a career out of it, so now they work mundane office jobs now. It’s almost sad, even if they get to come home each day and blast music from the speakers while making dinner or plucking at a guitar. 

Ryan says he’s jealous of me. He doesn’t get specific, keeps most of his words short. I assume it’s because we still have our microphones on, cameras probably spying on us even from out here. It’s still nice to talk to him. He seems to grow less uneasy looking, his fidgeting stopping as the conversation continues on. Even after watching him smile countless times, probably after every other sentence between us, I still want more. 

Sooner or later, though, Heather and Rachelle find us, Heather clutching onto an acoustic guitar. They’ve been bugging me about Ryan, asking about how we became friends, even if I don’t ever remember saying we were friends. They seem sure that we are, and I guess this doesn’t help my case. Either way, the girls sit down and Heather starts playing what I can only assume to be a bedlam remake of “Norwegian Wood”. 

“No, Heather—you put your finger here, yeah and,” I show her the correct way how to play, having to just take the guitar from her grip and play it myself. It’s impossible to miss the way Ryan smiles at us, maybe even slightly humming the tune of the song to what I’m playing. 

***

Most of us are in the living room, waiting to be called for the competition, or lack thereof. We all know it’s the third week, so all that’s going down today is haircuts and photo shoots. Unless something dramatic happens in the house, a girl is definitely going home. Girls have some kind of an emotional attachment to their hair, so the second you bring a pair of scissors to it, they always cry. Unfortunately, that’s usually what sends them packing. 

I lean back in the sofa, feeling at ease with the competition. William is shuffling a deck of cards in front of me, his fingers slipping on the new, shiny cards. A few other people are in our circle, waiting to be dealt some cards. We’ve been playing Bullshit for the past half hour, but the game really loses its gleam when you don’t really know the people you’re playing with. 

“You’re not shuffling them right,” Pete says, trying to take the deck from William. 

“Are we really going to play again?” Crystal asks. 

“Someone sounds like they’re getting antsy to get their haircut?” Gabe teases. “Maybe they’re going to chop off your hair, give you a cute little pixie cut.” 

William looks up from the cards, a grin embossing his face. “Maybe they’ll make you bald.” 

“It’ll be edgy,” Pete chimes in. 

Everyone starts laughing at the horrified look on Crystals face. She brings her hands up to her long blonde hair, a disturbed look her face. Marina leans over to her, putting a hand on her shoulder. 

“They wouldn’t do that,” she tells Crystal calmly.

We finally get called outside, a stretch limo waiting for us. The girls squeal and the guys look indifferent as we pile in. It’s roomier than I thought it would be, but I’m still shoulder to shoulder with Jon and Rachelle. I listen to the girls all try to guess who is going to get what. When they get to me they say that they’ll cut mine short because my shaggy hair has started to get down below my eyes.

I try not to make it obvious of the way I look at Ryan across from me. The girls are all ogling over him, telling him that they’re going to dye it some weird color. He shrugs, looking nervous in the attention, and moves away from Heather’s hand as it runs through his brown hair. 

The professional salon we walk into is over the top. The walls are lined with mirrors and full of swivel chairs and women with black smocks on. As expected, Collin is standing with two other guys in suites. The camera crew is spread about the salon, all lenses pointed in our direction.

“It is the third week here, and I’m sure all of you know what we’re doing today,” Collin says. “We’re in the fabulous Claire Rosone salon, and you guys are getting your hair styled for a photo shoot. These two men are the ones who are taking your pictures.” 

Despite the girls’ fears, we all smile and let out happy noises. The two men in suites seemed pleased by our reaction, and then they individually begin to tell us what our haircuts will look like. They only tell me that they’re going to make me look more edgy and dye my hair darker. 

I try not to scoff as they lead us to our seats. My hair is already a dark brown, and I assume they’re planning on dying it a black. I look down to my pale skin, knowing I’m going to look like some scene kid. I pray that they don’t try to add raccoon extensions or something. 

The lady who is cutting my hair goes by Lana, and she’s very serious, not talking to me as she starts putting hair dye in. It smells bad, the gel cold on my scalp. The cameras are panning over all of us in our seats and the men in suites are coming over to look at us. They talk about lighting when they do find their way over to me. They crane their necks to look into the mirror to check out my face. I try not to fidget. 

The foil in my hair makes noises as I move my neck a little to see everyone around me in the mirror. Across from me is Pete. His once shaggy hair is now cut short and spiked up. It’s not too much of a change but Pete still looks melancholy, his black hair littering the ground. I hold in my smile as I take a peek at Crystal, who despite Pete and William’s guesses, her hair only cut to a short bob. 

Once my hair has been washed, my old color running down the drain, I find myself staring back at the same Brendon but with darker hair. It only emphasizes my pale skin, and probably not in a good way, but I don’t say anything. I stay silent and resist any urges of moving my bangs out of my eyes as the hairdresser cuts the back of my hair. 

Another girl comes around as we’re getting haircuts and helps the girls with their makeup, but still approaches the guys to tell them pointers. She tells me that putting some eyeliner around my eyes, but only lightly, would make them stand out more. She tells me to be careful at the photo shoot because of my forehead, it being a little larger than the others. I try not to scoff, but she’s putting the eyeliner on me, her fingers pushing down on my face. I really only examine it after she’s gone. I try to ignore the way my eyes are still watering because it does look nice on me. 

I watch as Lana makes jagged cuts, the angles of my face starting to come out. It’s a lot shorter than what I had it, my bangs almost completely gone. I notice that it’s suspiciously quiet in the salon, that is, until I hear the muffled sobs of one of the girls. I try to turn around, but the lady cutting my hair obviously doesn’t want to comply with me. 

“Katelyn, it’ll grow back,” I hear one of the girls try to comfort her. 

The cameras are all rushing towards the drama in an almost pathetic manner, and I wonder what exactly Katelyn’s hair looks like, but I can only assume that they’ve chopped it all off. The hairdresser finishes before I can think anything else, taking off the gown around my neck. I look into the mirror, trying not to be disrespectful in the way I push my bangs to the side a little. 

“Thank you,” I mutter before going over to where Katelyn is still crying. 

She is surrounded by her friends, all of which are empathetic girls with tin foil in their hair. Katelyn is clutching onto a chunk of her light brown hair, her eyes red and mouth pursed as she stares into the mirror with a certain sense of dread. I look away, knowing exactly who is going home this week. I feel vaguely bad about it, but these girls must come into the competition knowing that’s always how they judge week three. 

I look away from the train wreck, knowing that I have a photo-shoot to do. I head towards the back of the salon and think of how I’m going to look. This could be the only thing I’m nervous about. I think of the way I always look like a goofy twelve year old when I smile or how I look like a pouty teenager when I pull a straight face, and neither of them seem proper for this. I decide my strategy will just be to watch everyone else and try to reciprocate it. 

There are two white screens set up, the men in suites now only wearing their white dress shirts, the sleeves pushed up and cameras poised in their grips. I get in line behind Patrick, who is currently running a hand through his hair. It looks the same, but usually the celebrities have minimal haircuts. The color might be slightly lighter, maybe even a blonde. 

“Are you nervous?” I ask him childishly. He’s probably done several of these types of things with his band. 

He still twists my way and shrugs slightly. “Not really nervous,” he says. “I’m just not into these kinds of things.” 

I’m about to ask him about if I should smile or not, but I decide to keep my tongue to myself. I don’t want to sound nervous to a judge. They want a confident winner. I just nod, putting on smile and hoping he just thinks I was kind enough to make small talk. We look back over to the people currently taking photos. 

On the right, Jon is posing with his hand in his hair, a big smile on his face. He looks like a picture you’d find in salon, his hair only dyed darker and cut shaggier. I try to think of where my hands are supposed to be during the photo shoot, but Jon seems completely as ease in front of the camera. 

It’s not like they’re going to send me home for a having an awkward photo, I just don’t want them to think I’m uncomfortable with a camera in my face. I know that they would be able to find something wrong about that, and how it’ll be awful for when the paparazzi come around. 

I look to the left to see Ryan. His haircut isn’t what I expected it. It looks like they didn’t dye it or really cut it that much. It’s just spiked up in the middle, making it look like he’s got a mohawk. I assumed he would be uncertain in front of the camera, but he seems to be enjoying it. He’s not smiling, only giving the camera long looks. 

I try to keep the smile off my face that instantly wants to bloom. I just see him, though, and can feel my heart beat pick up like I’m a school girl with an obvious crush. Watching him pose with an easy air about him almost inspires me. He uses his long arms to his advantage, sometimes wrapping them around his torso or just hanging them at his side. I stare at him and try to take notes of how he’s doing it. 

When he finishes up, giving the photographer a shy smile, I notice how he slips a hand into his pocket and pulls out a piece of folded up paper and hands it to Spencer. I wonder what exactly they’re writing to each other about. I can only imagine that they’re just sending letters so that the cameras can’t hear them talk. It sounds unfair but the judges never said we couldn’t. 

When I get up to the photographer, he introduces himself as Mark Sinclair and tells me to stand on the duct taped X that is on the ground. It reminds me slightly of taking yearbook photos for school and that only makes me more nervous. I think about the way Ryan seemed to command the photographer’s attention, titled his head just slightly and cocked his hips, looking confident. I try to do just that, but still maintaining my own image. I think of Brendon. 

The flash is bright, all the lights blinking around me. I stay calm and casually slip a hand into my jeans. The photographer seems pleased, only speaking up when I’ve moved away from the mark on accident. It goes by quickly and I find myself walking off from set with a satisfied feeling running through me. 

***

On Friday morning, I decide to talk to Ryan again, just in a roundabout way. I have to go to the music room and collect a few pieces of the complementary sheet music and one of the pencils that’s hanging around. I go back to my room, making sure that Rachelle and Heather aren’t there. Spreading one of the papers down on top of the dresser, I realize I have no idea what of what I’m going to write. 

The plan was to send him a little letter and surreptitiously pass it to him when he doesn’t expect it. I hoped that it would be easier than interrupting Ryan while he’s reading or writing, then he can see what I have to say whenever he likes. It’s just that now, with the paper full of empty staves, it seems to want to stay empty. 

“Dear Ryan,” I start writing at the top, my handwriting sloppy and boyish. I cringe and erase it, tapping the pencil on the dresser. I just go for it now, writing whatever comes to my mind. It’s awful, and I think I write something about how Collin reminds me of a Kardashian twin. I even add doodles to the side, of little pictures and song lyrics. It’s probably a train wreck, but I’ve always kind of been one, so I figure Ryan should know what he’s getting into if he’s planning on befriending me. 

As I’m folding it neatly, using my nail to smooth the creases down perfectly, Rachelle walks in. She smiles when she sees me, walking straight up to me. She must notice the way I put the note into my pocket, but doesn’t say anything. I don’t offer an explanation either. 

She holds out her arm to me, like she wants me to loop mine in between hers. “Would you like to accompany me to the pantry? I’ve got something to tell you,” she says to me. 

I narrow my eyes at her, wondering why she can’t tell me here. I do finally loop my arm with hers and we walk out of the room without further explanation. I figure there must be something secret going on and I most likely want to be in on it. Whether it’s good or not, I’ll make sure to stay on my toes so no one tries to trick a judge into voting me off. I’ve seen it happen.

When we get to the pantry room, the door shutting with finality, I notice that there are others already here. Pete, Gabe, Jon, and Spencer are all looking at us when we enter. I realize that I already know what’s going on before Pete speaks up. 

“We wanted to know if you would consider being in our alliance,” Pete outright says, giving me a long look, like he’s challenging me to say no. 

“Dude,” Gabe protests to Pete. “You can’t just say it like that. Brendon, it’s just that we decided that we didn’t want anyone who didn’t completely deserve to be in this competition to win.” 

I keep my mouth shut, staring at everyone, but mostly Spencer. He’s in the corner, a bag of chips in his grip. I wonder who convinced him to be part of this. With a judge on your side, it would only make sense that someone in this room would win. I eye Spencer, him nodding his head just slightly when we lock eyes. 

“Do I have to do anything in particular?” I ask. I’m positive that I’m going to join, but I don’t want to look so needy. I can with this competition with or without help, I just know that help would be nice. 

“Well, we’re going to work on getting everyone eliminated who isn’t in this room. We want to weed out the weak,” Rachelle explains. 

I think about everyone else that isn’t in this room. Even Heather, who I’ve seen Rachelle be very sisterly to, isn’t here. It’s just us five. It seems like a good bet for now. I’m just worried I’ll get caught up in something. I don’t want everyone getting angry at me. I wonder if maybe this is why Spencer wanted me to get close to Ryan. Maybe he thinks I’ll get Ryan to sway the vote. 

“I guess I’ll be part of…this,” I finally mutter.

Everyone looks satisfied and less anxious about my arrival. If I would’ve said no, then this probably wouldn’t have worked out. I could tell everyone in the house about what they’re brewing, but even Pete knows that this is a good deal. With Spencer to their advantage, the alliance could strong and actually dominate the house. 

“We won’t have much work for now because we all know who’s getting sent home this week,” Gabe says, laughing. 

They start imitating Katelyn. I only watch as they pretend to cry and grab onto their hair. I smirk because I think it’s what I’m supposed to be doing. It just seems childish of them. Maybe my freshman self would have laughed at this, but I’m here to win. This is obviously more serious to me than any of them. 

We get called downstairs for the eliminations, and I realize I’ve yet to give Ryan the letter. I scurry out the room and look around for him. Everyone is filing down the stairs, not as peppy as they once were. I hold back and wait to find a timid Ryan, followed by a producer, hurrying downstairs. I walk alongside Ryan, our shoulders nearly touching, and when he looks over to me with scrunched eyebrows, I hand him the folded up letter. He looks at it strangely for a few moments and then pockets it. He doesn’t smile or look angry, just calm. 

Ryan and I break apart when we get downstairs, him heading over to the judges and myself going over to the competitors. I look at the blank TV that is right next to Collin. Once the cameras have been turned on and aimed at everybody, Collin explains that instead of being called up, our best photo shoot picture will show up on the screen. I cringe because even if I felt confident during the photo shoot, there could still be nothing good.

It’s Ryan’s turn to take the rings from us. He’s standing in front of the TV awkwardly, a stack of photos in his hands. Apparently they’re giving us a copy so that we can become even more full of ourselves, or something like that. Heather is the first picture to show up on the screen. She looks gorgeous in it too, her skin velvety smooth and eyes shiny. She’s got just a hint of a smile on her face. 

I wait patiently for my picture to show up, but as more and more people go up before me, I start thinking about this week. Did I do something wrong? Maybe that was why Ryan looked indifferent when I gave him the letter; maybe he knew my fate when we walked in here. I wipe my sweaty hands on my jeans and watch as Gabe grabs his photograph and gives back his ring. 

Suddenly, I’m standing next to Katelyn, just us two left. I know I shouldn’t be worried because I watched Katelyn cry and everyone even said she was definitely going home, but there’s still this pessimistic voice in my head that’s telling me I’m going home. I was so sure I was going to make it; I was going to win and then become some music legend. 

Before my thoughts can go further, my picture does appear on the screen, the smile on my face practically taunting me. When I barely move, Katelyn pulls me into a hug, her arms a lot stronger than my own. It’s not a surprise to find her crying on my shoulder when we pull apart. She waves at the group and then heads upstairs, leaving me to finally grab the photograph from Ryan and give him my ring. 

I head back to the line of people who made it through, Pete giving me an annoyed look, like he’s disappointed that I was in the bottom two. I stare down at my picture as everyone around me hugs and cheers that they’re here for another week. I almost start laughing at my own face staring back at me. I look like I should be on a Disney TV show or, even worse, like I belong in some kinky twink porn. 

I take it as a good sign.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, and if you're confused about the makeovers, basically Brendon just went from his shaggy hair from Pretty. Odd. era to his hair from fever era, the jagged short one. Ryan's is just the ryhawk, which is kind of hard to describe so sorry for the shitty description.


	5. WEEK 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments last week. They made me smile and inspired me to write more. <3

WEEK 4

 

A producer is sitting across from me, a camera right next to him. I lean into the couch, lolling my head back, and wait for the next question. For the first couple weeks, this felt unnatural and I was really selective and careful with what I told the cameras. Now, though, things come naturally. No one but the viewers will hear this. I guess everyone in the house will be able to watch it later, but I won’t care what they think of me once I’ve won. 

“How did it feel to be in the bottom two?” the producer asks after rummaging through notecards. 

“I was in the bottom two at least week’s elimination, and at first, I just stood there and tried to figure out why I was there. Like, I didn’t say word about my haircut, even if the new color makes me look like Casper. I didn’t think my photo was bad either,” I say to the camera. “But I also knew that Katelyn had cried and cried about her precious hair, so I figured they were just trying to scare me.”

With that, the guy lets me go, obviously having decided he’s got enough out of me. I head out of the diary room to find that Alex is waiting at the door, looking bored. When he sees me, he gives me a smile and when I try to walk past him he stops me. 

“So, um, Ryan said he was looking for you,” he tells me, looking just a little bitter. 

“Oh, okay, cool, thanks.” 

I head towards the kitchen, hoping that Ryan is out there or something. By chance, he is, seated next to Spencer and Victoria. They all stop talking when I enter. I throw them a smile and hope they continue talking or pretend like they didn’t just do that. I watch as Spencer clears his throat and elbows Ryan, which makes Victoria burst out laughing. 

As Ryan gets up from his seat and tells me to follow him, I start to feel sick. Is this the part where Ryan tells me the letter was the stupidest idea ever and he doesn’t actually want to be my friend? Why would Victoria and Spencer laugh? It makes me full of nerves. Ryan leads me past the gym and to a door I never noticed before. He pulls a key from his pocket and quickly pulls me inside and slams the door. 

Inside the room, it’s practically empty, save for a desk and a couch. I notice that there is a pile of folded pieces of paper lying on top of the desk, a few pen scattered around it. I look back to Ryan, frowning. 

“I’m technically not supposed to bring competitors in here,” Ryan finally says, walking over the couch. I notice that he has my letter in his hand, the edges creased and the “Ryan” I labeled it with all smudged. “But, I’m a judge so…whatever.” 

I stand in front of Ryan, confused even more. “Why can’t I be in here?” 

“Look around,” he says, his eyes flickering through the room. “There are no cameras in here. We’re not mic-ed either. When they asked Spencer and I to be in the show, I was a little hesitant so they told me they would give me a room like this.”

I finally, cautiously sit down next Ryan. “The perks of being famous, huh?” I snicker. “I thought you were about to bitch me out or something. I mean, I’d just seen Spencer and you passing notes all the time, so I thought I would try. I didn’t mean to, like, impose on you.” 

“No, no you didn’t. It’s just that Spence and I usually pass the notes to say when we’re going to be in here. It’s not really something that they want us talking about,” Ryan explains. 

I look over to the pile of letters, suddenly feeling silly. “Oh, wow, then my letter must of seemed stupid.”

Here I was thinking that I had it all figured out, Spencer and Ryan passing these friendly letters full of their feelings on the competition. My letter was just me trying to make bad jokes, hoping that Ryan would laugh when he read it. I thought that maybe that was what Spencer and him did. Now, though, knowing the letters are just pure information, it makes me look like a middle school student passing notes to his friend during class. 

“I liked it though,” Ryan admits, his hands starting to open my letter. I want to tell him to stop, that the last thing I want to do is re-read my letter, but he does seems excited as he points to passages and tells me what he thinks about everything. He asks me what some of the lyrics are on the sides, says he wants me to make a playlist. 

“I’ve been around my band mates for so long that I’ve grown accustom to their music tastes, but I like listening to others. So, you should, you know, write me another letter just with your favorite songs on it,” Ryan tells me, my letter now thrown to the side and our positions on the couch more relaxed. Ryan has his knees pulled up to his chest, his eyes straight on me, looking completely interested in the presumably shitty music I like. 

“Is someone asking for a mix tape?” I tease. 

Even if I meant it as a light joke, Ryan still blushes and drops eye contact. “I mean—“

“Nope! It’s too late. I’m making you a mix tape and that is that. But, it’ll be on paper and not an actual CD due to the circumstances.” 

Ryan scratches the side of his head awkwardly and leans further into the couch. “Yeah, um, that would be cool.” 

***

I have to wait twenty minutes to use the phone. Katie is apparently having issues with her boyfriend. She refuses to let anyone else use the phone until she has it all figured out. I end up waiting with Jon, who wants to talk to his mother. From the room, we can hear muffled sobs and Jon and I just exchange annoyed glances. 

“So, do you have a girl back home?” Jon asks me idly as he fiddles with a sheet of paper filled with phone numbers. 

“Um, no. I mean, kind of, it’s just—“

Jon starts laughing, placing a consoling hand on my shoulder. “Chicks are weird, I know,” he tells me. “Before my girlfriend and I were dating, we spent, like, two years just circling each other.” 

I nod, deciding that I guess Jon now thinks I’m a pussy who is too nervous to ask girls out. I try not to laugh at the irony. Shane and I were never like that. We knew we liked each other from the start. We didn’t even go on a date before we started groping in his living room. It was fast and there definitely wasn’t any circling. 

Katie walks out of the phone room, eyes red and arms crossed. She looks at Jon and me for a second with a glare of hatred of on her face. Once she walks away, Jon starts laughing again. 

“Looks like someone is going to be lesbian,” he jokes.

I smile awkwardly, try not to look offended, and head into the phone room. I lock the door and hope Jon doesn’t put his ear up to the door. For each person in the house, they give you a voicemail system, just in case people want to call you. I check to see if I have messages, and sure enough Shane’s voice comes through phone. 

“Hey, Bren,” he pauses, sounds of shuffling on the other end. “I need to talk to you, so call me back, thanks.” 

I furrow my brows and type in Shane’s number, knowing it by heart. I hear a few rings as I twist the phone cord around my fingers. I’m getting comfortable in the chair when Shane answers with a quiet hello. 

“Shane,” I smile involuntarily. I haven’t talked to him since I won the competition, and that was barely a conversation as it is. “I got your message. What’s up?” 

“This might be confusing,” he starts. “I just have to tell you so…um, bear with me.”

I pick up the pencil and start doodling on the paper in front of me, someone already having written an outstanding amount of Taylor Swift lyrics on. “Alright, go ahead.”

“I have this friend who is dating this person and the person left and my friend started to realize that they didn’t exactly care about that person as much as they thought they did originally,” Shane says all of this all slowly, his voice ridden with nerves. 

I stop my doodling, hoping that I’m wrong about what’s going on right now. “Shane…” 

“Yeah, Brendon. My friend broke up with the person, and they know it’s not fair.”

I stay calm or at least pretend to for the cameras. “Do I know this person?” 

“Yeah.”

I put the pencil done, not wanting to think about this all right now. “That’s,” I manage to say, not sure what I’m supposed to stay to this. “That’s a pretty shitty thing to do.”

Despite the fact that Shane is breaking up with me, I’m glad he tried to do it conspicuously. I know the cameras are watching me, probably trying to figure out what the fuck just happened. Why Shane would do this now, while I’m competing, is just as shitty. I don’t have the time to think about this. 

“Tell him to call me later if he gets the chance,” I say bitterly. I keep telling myself I need to pretend this isn’t happening. 

“I’ll—“

Someone starts banging on the door, and I have a feeling it isn’t Jon. “Listen, I gotta go. Later, Shane.” I force myself not to slam down the phone. When I stand up, my legs feel weak and as I walk to the door, they don’t even feel like my own. Rachelle is behind the door when I open it. 

“Meeting,” she says to me, Jon already by her side. 

I lick my lips slowly and then close the door to the phone room. We walk to the pantry in silence. I think of anything but Shane. I don’t think about the past few months we spent together. I don’t think about the way we were happy and I didn’t even start to think about breakups. Now, though, being forced to pretend like what just happened was nothing, and my boyfriend really didn’t just break up with me by telling some silly story to make sure the world didn’t know I was gay.

“Now that we’re all here,” Gabe says once we arrive. “Since we all know about what’s going on with Katie. I think we should use this to our advantage. She’s going to be weak and sad, you know how those kind of things go down on reality TV shows.”

Pete and Gabe exchange smiles, but I notice that Rachelle doesn’t seem as amused. I can only imagine it’s some sort of empathy she feels for Katie. I can definitely empathize with Katie right now. It feels cruel to stand here and listen to Pete and Gabe giggle about how Katie is pathetic for being sad. 

“Whatever our competition is, just, you know, gang up on her. Make her want to leave to patch up her relationship with her ex,” Pete finishes for Gabe. 

I realize that maybe this wasn’t my smartest move to be part of this. There really is no way out of this now. Pete and Gabe are obviously serious about this. They want to take everyone out one by one. When will I be the person they’re ganging up on? I know I need to keep my guard up and not let what Shane did affect me. I can’t let these guys know that I could be just as easily removed as Katie. 

The rest of the afternoon goes by slowly. I spend it in my room, my earbuds in and a sad playlist spilling out from them. I try to look like I’m just tired and not feeling social. The covers are over my head, every breath I take in hot and constricted. I don’t think about Shane. I just lie in bed and concentrate on the song I’m listening to. 

Heather shakes me when we have to go down for our next competition. When I get out of bed, carding through my hair and rolling my shoulders, I realize that Heather is staring at me, obviously confused about my behavior. I’m usually all over the place, especially if it’s before something, so this side of me, the quiet and lethargic side, is new to her. 

She smiles at me and I smile back, which seems to make her decide that I’m okay. I sigh as we leave the room. She leads me through the house and I realize we’re not going downstairs. 

“Where are we going?” I ask her.

“Over the announcements, they said we’re have our next competition is in the music room,” she tells me. “This is the real first week of the competition. It’s where the judges size us all up.”

I cringe. This really isn’t a good time. I breathe in slowly and know I have to impress them. I know music. I can play and can sing well enough to pass by. I’ve been doing this since I was young. Just because I don’t know how to pose in front of a camera or untangle strings doesn’t mean anything. Playing music is what we’re all here for. 

We’re the last to arrive to the music, a few producers looking ticked off when we enter. I stand beside Jon and we both exchange mutually nervous glances. Collins is surrounded by the judges, a smug smile on his lips. I’m starting to hate him just a little. 

“The games become serious this week,” Collin tells us ominously. “You’re all competing for a chance to make music professionally, and a key component in music making is playing instruments. So, this week you’ll be learning a completely new band-oriented instrument.” 

They’ve had this challenge on other seasons but not recently, so it seems unexpected. I think about all the instruments that I listed on my application for the show. They must be keeping track of that stuff, making sure that none of us try to cheat our way out of this competition. 

The cameras get shut off as producers swarm us, clipboards in their arms. One of them finds me and informs me that since I know all of the “band oriented” instruments I can either learn percussion instruments or synthesizers. Part of me knows that I should just choose the synthesizers since most of that is piano done, and my piano skills are above average. The percussions sounds like too much fun, so I end up telling them I’ll do that. 

I get escorted, along with Rachelle, to a special room where they keep all the percussion things. Inside, there are mallets lined up against one wall and cabinets on the other. There are timpani’s and bongos and bells on another wall. I look around like a kid in a candy shop, my eyes probably doubling in size. A camera crew followed us in here, squeezing into the tight room and capturing the looks on our faces. 

A man also comes into the room, his balding hair the first thing I notice. He’s dressed casually, a button up with his sleeves rolled up. He smiles gently at us before introducing himself as Greg. He explains that he’s the percussion expert and he’ll be showing us how to properly play everything. Even if all the rest of the instruments look tempting, he explains that we’ll be primarily judged on our ability to play the mallet instruments. 

He lets us pick which of them we want to play, excluding the bells since they have less of a range of octaves than the rest. I choose the marimbas randomly, not sure what the differences of these are. I vaguely remember them from band class, but I’ve never played them or have been interested to learn about them. Rachelle choses the xylophone. 

Greg gives us books to learn from and then shows us which mallets to use and how to hold them properly. He leaves after that, saying that he’ll give us more to do tomorrow. The cameras watch us briefly as Rachelle and I play around on the mallets, deciding that we could go through the books at the same time. Even if I’m familiar with the sheet music, knowing where all the notes go on the marimba, I still have troubles leading my arms there on time. 

When the cameras leave, Rachelle leans against the wall and drops the mallets on the xylophone. The clattering noise practically makes me jump. I look over to find her giggling, her head lolled back on the wall. 

“This is so boring, my god,” she complains. “I should have never told them I could play all those instruments.”

“I don’t know, this is kind of interesting,” I shrug as I keep playing, my arms getting better at working in tandem. 

Rachelle sighs loudly. “I’m sorry, Brendon, but this,” she points to the xylophone. “Will never help me to becoming a musician.”

“Better be careful, you might still be mic-ed.”

Rachelle burst out laughing again. “You’re funny, Brendon.”

I abruptly stop playing, knowing that voice. I’ve had my fair share of girls try to hit on me at school and it’s not like anyone knew I was gay at school. The only reason I was dating Shane was because we met outside of school. Now, though, Rachelle is so obviously out for me and I’m not sure how to dismiss her.

“Thanks,” I mutter calmly. Shane used to tell me I was funny. 

“Do you wanna go swimming?” she asks me, putting away her mallets into the cabinets behind us. “I mean, I’ve learned enough for today.”

I know I should say yes. That way, the judges will have a reason to keep me. They want to see how our blooming relationship turns out. This kind of stuff always gets messy. It could work out in my favor. I could break Rachelle’s heart and she’ll throw the competition because she’ll never want to see an asshole like me ever again. Or something like that.

“You know what? Sure.”

I put away the mallets and make sure to grab my booklet as we leave. Most of the people are cleared out of the music by now, a few stragglers struggling to play new instruments. A camera instantly starts to follow us and this must inspire Rachelle to loop her arm in my own. We walk to our bedroom and only when we need to find our suits do we separate. 

We meet back at the pool after changing. Some people are already out there, jumping around in the shallow end with a half-deflated beach ball. Rachelle seems skittish to get in, dipping her toe in the water to feel the temperature. I know it’s probably mean, but I’m sure the audience will find it endearing, so I quickly grab for Rachelle’s waist and push us into the pool. 

The coolness is instantaneous, the water filling my ears and making everything blissfully quiet. Rachelle and I surface too quickly though. She pushes me almost immediately, laughing as she removes the wet hair from her face. Everyone is watching us tentatively, all smiling with curious faces. I realize that Ryan is one of them, and almost instantly I feel nervous. 

I know I have a show to win, though, so I teasingly shove some water at Rachelle and say, “Live a little.”

“Brendon,” she wines loudly, a smile still on her face so that I know I must be doing something right. She grabs my arm and starts tugging me towards the group of people, her settling next to Marina. She keeps her hand but once we’re situated, leaning against the pool wall, it starts to drag down, her fingers entwining with mine. 

There are quite a few people now in a circle, all talking gossip. Ryan is across from me, sitting with none other than Spencer, who seems to be more curious than anyone else about Rachelle and me. I try to look like it’s nothing that she’s holding my hand under the water, her shoulder pressed against mine. 

“Katie, though, Jesus Christ, no one cares,” Marina complains. “Like, I understand that you’re sad, but everyone needs to use the phone, honey.”

“Hey, I’m rooming with her, it’s even worse. She’s always crying, but I guess her being miserable will just be another reason for her to go,” William says. 

Everyone wordlessly turns to Spencer and Ryan, who both seem surprised to meet everyone’s gaze. Spencer laughs and goes, “It’s up to how she performs…but, you know, no one likes the mopey, depressed girl.”

People erupt in laughter. I watch as Ryan doesn’t and instead his mouth drops open and he gives Spencer a glare. No one notices as he gets out the pool, but not before looking back at me. I try not to overthink things. It almost looks like he was beckoning me, wanting me to leave all these vapid people behind, but I don’t. I stay put but my fingers do loosen from Rachelle’s, an unwelcoming feeling in my stomach.

***

“We have twenty minutes.”

I stand in the doorway, my fingers closed around a piece of paper, and cock my head in Ryan’s directions. He just rolls his eyes and pulls me into the room, making a big show of closing the door. The place seems messier than it was a few days ago, but I haven’t seen much of Ryan around the house so he must be hiding out here.

“The producers,” Ryan starts, snatching the paper from my hand without even asking what it is. “They give me schedules with all the competition times and stuff. We have twenty minutes until we have to perform.”

I nod slowly and then start to fidget with the sleeve of my flannel, not sure what to do as Ryan looks over my playlist. I wrote it out a couple days ago, but I hadn’t had the guts to tell him I finished it, but when he found me, shortly after I got out the pool, he asked me if I wanted to come back to the room. It didn’t take long to make, knowing all the songs that meant something, some songs I have admittedly cried during and songs with certain lines that explain who I am better than I could. 

“Are you going to sit down?” Ryan asks me. He doesn’t look up but he does seemed appease with the songs I picked, which makes me relieved. 

There’s an uncomfortable feeling rising in me as I sit next to Ryan, thinking of how far apart we are. It’s not often I get this way around people, but there is just something about Ryan. It’s strange to see him so content, just leaning against the couch and not on edge like how he usually is when we’re in the house.

“From the songs I know, it sounds good, but it’ll be nice to hear the others,” Ryan says to me, a genial smile on his face. 

This makes me feel better, and I allow myself to lean back further into the comfy couch. “So, where is mine?” I tease.

Ryan instantly starts to blush, which makes me just put on a goofy grin as he mutters, “I didn’t know I had to.”

“Well, obviously,” I exclaim dramatically. “But seriously, you should make me one.”’

By the way Ryan smiles and nods, I know he will. “So, shouldn’t you practicing right now?”

“Lest I remind you that you also have to perform in twenty minutes…well, probably less than that by now, but whatever,” I shrug. “What are you doing then?”

“Drums. Never got around to learning them.”

This seems strange to me. I haven’t needed to make friends since middle school, which sounds sad but it’s only true because I’ve felt content with the ones I’ve had. I know how to be friendly but getting to know someone isn’t the freshest thing in my mind. I was mostly hoping that the playlist would help, having to meticulously pick out what exactly I wanted to say. Now, though, having to decide what exactly I want to tell him and what to keep to myself seems difficult. 

With the added knowledge that no one can hear what we’re saying, a serious luxury in this house, I let a few things leave my mouth that I wouldn’t mention with cameras on me. It’s not like I admit that I’m gay and my boyfriend just broke up with me and how just talking to Ryan is making me feel better. No, I decide to keep that to myself, even if I do seem comfortable enough to divulge the secrets to him.

Ryan even tells me that he knows that I’ve joined the alliance, says it might be risky. He seems genuinely worried about my position in the competition, telling me that he’ll try to get me in good graces with Spencer, even if he thinks Spencer already likes me. According to Ryan, he thinks I have a good sense of humor. I start to wonder if maybe I’m not the only one divulging too much information. 

I nearly forget that he’s a judge until he mentions that we should probably get going before the competition starts. I freeze, wondering if I’ve said too much. I did admit being nervous about the photo shoot, saying that I might’ve copied Ryan’s technique. I open my mouth, wanting to say something about this, beg him to be fair.

“It’s okay, Brendon,” he says, obviously understanding what I’m feeling without making me outright say it. “I’m not gonna bring anything out of this room…that is, unless you don’t either.” 

“Yeah, of course.” 

And that is that. I realize that Ryan must obviously intend for me to come back to this room again, for us to talk in private again. It instantly makes me feel more relaxed. I now have a place where I can be completely honest without everyone judging me. Ryan’s not exactly up for the scrutinizing gazes of the America and the judges, but there are fans watching, idolizing every move Ryan makes. I can only imagine that this room is a stress reliever for both of us. 

I leave the room first, Ryan saying it will be less suspicious. I wish him good luck at the competition and then trip on the way out the door, my foot stumbling on the change from carpet to hardwood flooring. I hope to God that it’s more endearing than it is completely embarrassing. Ryan only lets out one of those mysterious laughs before the door is shut and I’m back into the real world.

I decide to go to the bathroom and check my appearance before the competition. As I’m walking there, skipping through the living room where people are talking nervously or studying sheet music, I end up in front of the phone room. Katie rushes out in front of me, arms wrapped around her torso, her cheeks shimmering in the light. 

She bumps into me, both of us obviously thinking of other things. She looks sad for a few moments, unraveling her hands from her middle and then gives me an exasperated look. I know I should say something comforting, but my insides feel heavy and dark because I start to think of Shane and know that I’m supposed to be looking like she is now. I’m supposed to be sad, but I can’t be at a time like this. 

Katie wraps her arms around me abruptly. It seems too easy to wrap my arms around her and let her place her face on my shoulder. There seems to be a never-ending stream of crying girls at this house. The thing is, I feel crying myself at this point, listening to her muffled sobs and feeling her body convulsing under my arm. I can’t look weak, though. 

“I can’t believe he would do this to me right now,” Katie tells me, hiccupping in between. “What am I supposed to do, Brendon?” 

I think of the alliance, knowing that this is the moment I’m supposed to attack, say something that sounds innocent but will only make her feel worse. I know that Pete and Gabe have been around her lately, probably whispering foul things in her ears when she’s weak. I can’t do it, though. I can only think of Shane and how if someone said something too close to home at me right now, I’d probably collapse.

“You gotta go in there and use all that sadness and show ‘em you’re a badass and can work through the pain,” I say, swallowing down my sadness and trying to sound like a spiritual leader or something. 

This seems to do something for her and when we break apart, the announcement on the overhead startling us, she seems more confident to go to the competition. We walk together, our shoulder brushing together, and when people look at us emerging into the living room, they seem to scoff. I try to be subtle about breaking apart from her, going over to Jon as we tread downstairs. 

Jon and I have been getting close, the alliance only helping strengthen the relationship. We spend a lot of nights outside, feet dipped into the water and discussing the competition. A few nights ago he admitted that he hadn’t really ever watched the show before, and he was starting to realize that this might have been a fatal move on his part. He told me that he felt nervous about the show, which seems important to me. I’ve been so much time making sure to come off strong and Jon is just throwing these feelings at me.

Once we’re downstairs, the stage from two weeks ago still up, there is a producer already starting to put us in lines, making us look proper for the cameras. Rachelle ends up next to me, a big smile on her face the moment she realizes this. I give her a small smile in return and look to the ground, trying not to think of my moment with Katie. Even if I know she won’t be able to take her sadness and do something with it, I know I can. I need to win this shit so Shane can regret liking someone more than me. 

Collin gives a spiel for the cameras, smiling at us with his big smile that’s starting to become old. They send us back to the seats, giving us an order for the performance, telling us that once we’re finished, the judges will have time to deliberate on who is going home. I’m the second to perform. I don’t really have time to be nervous, but when I get whisked on the stage after a rather bland bass solo, I feel silly with the mallets in my grip. 

I look into the audience as the camera person figures out the lighting. Everyone looks interested in me, and I hope it’s because they think I’m their real competition. I realize that I might have some kind of a reputation to live up to, especially if I’ve already learned the rest of the instruments. I’ve really only practiced a few times since Wednesday so it’s not like I’ve been too worried. I just managed to memorize the entire thing, finding that easier than looking up and down between the marimbas and the sheet music. 

Once the producer gives me the cue to start, I freeze up, my fingers betraying my brain as they stay midair. My grip gets noticeably tighter, but they don’t move down to the mallets. I think about how everyone in the audience is probably squinting their eyes, probably looking over to whoever is next to them, scoffing slightly. I know I need to do something, I need to win. I need to show up Shane.

Suddenly, my arms jolt into action, the first hit of the mallets ringing out uncomfortably. From then on, everything is smooth. I don’t look up to the sheet music, my arms already knowing exactly where they need to go from the practice I did. I don’t keep tempo with my foot like I usually do, and instead wing it, knowing that I keep tempo fairly decently. 

When I finish, I hear people clapping and this is when I finally look up, past the unused sheet music, I see people smiling and looking genuinely amused by my performance. I finally exhale, my body feeling shaky as I loosen my sweaty grip on the mallets and place them down. 

I walk off the stage with what I hope looks like confidence, taking a seat next to Jon, who holds out his palm for a high five. I sit back and finally relax, watching as Gerard goes up on stage. Everyone seems decent up until Katie tragically takes the stage. You can feel the tension through the room, knowing that everyone is thinking about how she could mess this up because of her issues with her boyfriend. 

Maybe there is a part of me that hopes she does, just because then I wouldn’t need to be worried about the elimination. Everyone waits on a baited breath as she sits in front of the piano, fingers poised over the keys. They probably won’t expect much from her, it only being three days of practice on an instrument that took me five years to master.

She plays slowly, both of her hands working in tandem. There’s a moment, though, when I can hear a gasp as her fingers slip up and a wrong note rings out. She doesn’t recover well, her slim fingers stopping completely, just above the keys. I want to take back all the thoughts about how I wanted her to mess up because this doesn’t seem fair. 

There is a long moment where no one moves or utters a word. Katie twitches just slightly, one of her fingers pushing down on a key. This jumps her back into the song, finishing it with an obvious edge, the notes sounding less graceful as before, more harsh like she is punching down on the keys. When she finishes everyone claps but we all probably look relieved that we didn’t do as awful.

Ryan is the last one, right after Katie and he looks less anxious behind the drum kit that gets set up after Katie leaves the stage, her eyes glassy. Ryan clicks his sticks four times, something that makes me smile, and start drumming, obviously having played just a little before this week. When I started, it took me longer than a few days to get used to the way my limbs had to be playing different tempos. He seems comfortable, though, the bass sounding dead on with the symbol he’s currently crashing. 

The judges all file upstairs when Ryan finishes. The cameras stop rolling and all of us realize this one of those moments, the ones we rarely get when the cameras don’t bother to record us. It really only happens sometimes late at night, when everyone’s gone to bed, my head covered by my blankets because there is always that constant light shining on us. Now, though, people huddle around and talk about how everyone did. 

“I might’ve fucked myself over,” I tell Jon bluntly. 

He shrugs, putting his feet up on the chair. “I dunno, man, I really doubt you’re going home,” he says, pointedly looking over to where Katie is sitting. 

She looks a few shades paler, Crystal gripping her hand and giving her reassuring looks. We all know that she must be going home, unless the judges find some kind of hope in her musical skills. It makes me feel guilty, like maybe I should be in her position, but I can’t go home yet. I know this isn’t my time, and I just barely know it is Katie’s time. 

It’s no shock to anyone as Katie is sent home, the judges telling her that she shouldn’t give up, just work on not letting her emotions get the best of her. Everyone seems to get overly emotional this week, even some of the boys surreptitiously wiping at their eyes. Hayley rushes over to Katie to give her a hug and then all the judges are suddenly next to us, all of us one big group. Ryan ends up next to me, nudging my shoulder with his for a brief moment. 

Even if he doesn’t know about the Shane situation, there is something relaxing in the way he seems to comfort me. He gives me a shy smile, like he knows something I don’t, and I can’t help but to smile back.


	6. WEEK 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is later than usual. i spent the day celebrating my birthday (and ryan's) so i kind of procrastinated. anyways, i hope you like this clusterfuck of a chapter.

WEEK 5

 

“Come on, just tell me,” I beg, jiggling my foot just enough to where Ryan is trying to push it off his lap. 

We’re in his room, a comforting feeling spread throughout as we lounge on the couch. I’m leaning against the side of the armrest with my legs on Ryan’s lap. He didn’t seem opposed to the position so I decided that it was okay for now. He’s certainly not as touchy as me, but he doesn’t seem to mind when I get that way, which I’m just doing subconsciously after all of these years. 

“Brendon, for the last time, I can’t tell you what the competition is this week,” he tells me again. He says it firmly, but he’s smiling at me so it’s hard to take him seriously. 

“Okay, just give me a hint.” 

“If I give you a hint I’ll give it away.”

I cross my arms childishly and slump further into the couch. Ryan looks like he wants to laugh at my antics, but he doesn’t, just smirks and looks down to my feet. His hand is resting on my ankle from when he tried to shoo it away. I didn’t really notice it until now, it suddenly feeling like a weight instead of his fragile hand. 

I give him a disappointed look. “Here I was thinking that you would actually help me out in the competition,” I say. “What if I went home because of this? What if I wasn’t prepared for the—“

“You’re not going home,” Ryan says offhandedly, biting the side of his mouth as he stares at the other side of the room.

I furrow my brows and cock my head, curiously. “Why wouldn’t I go home?” I ask him slowly, a smile creeping onto my lips. 

“It’s just, you know,” Ryan stutters, his cheeks going a pleasant crimson. It makes my smile turn into a full-blown goofy grin. When he turns to me, though, he looks serious. “It’s obvious you’re better than the rest of the people here, Brendon.”

Maybe I should thank him, let him know that I really do appreciate his comment, but the only thing that comes out is sarcastic. “So that’s why you brought me here. Favoritism, Ross, really?”

“Be careful, I might just tell everybody to send you home, Urie.” He’s trying to mock me with the way he says my last name like I did his, but it sounds entirely different coming out of his mouth. 

Something still lurches in my stomach when he makes the joke. I doubt he would really use something I did to him in here to get me off the show, but the mere thought scares me just a little. He doesn’t appear to pick up on it, though, looking down at his own hands resting on my ankles.

He looks like he’s about to say something, by the way he brings his unoccupied hand up to his head, tugging at the strands next his ear, when the door opens abruptly. It genuinely scares me, and probably does to Ryan too since his hand jolts back and my legs snap up a little. Instead of it being some curious competitor, it’s just Spencer, squinted eyes in our direction, like he’s unsure of what he’s seeing. 

“Uh, hey,” he says awkwardly in my direction. He looks over to Ryan with an unsure face. “Mark is looking for you.”

Ryan nods and stands up, sending me a parting smile and leaving the room for just Spencer and me. Instead of leaving, which seems like the smart move at a moment like this, I just look up to Spencer, maybe waiting for him to say something.

“Mark’s one of the producers,” Spencer tells me. “He’s probably going to yell at Ryan about you. But, knowing, Ryan he’ll find an excuse to let you come back here.” 

“Am I getting Ryan in trouble?” I ask, leaning forward. 

Spencer shrugs. “He won’t get in trouble. Probably just get warned,” he tells me. I must look worried about Ryan’s fate because Spencer continues, “Don’t worry about it, really.” 

I stand up cautiously. “He hasn’t been, like, giving anything away, trust me.” 

Before I can leave, Spencer grabs my arm. “Hey,” he says in a quiet voice, probably from habit when you’re inside the house. “You know Pete and Gabe are really serious about this alliance, right? They can fuck up all of your chances in this competition.”

“Um.” I clear my throat awkwardly. Well, Jesus Christ, Spencer, try not to sugar coat it. “I know what I’m doing.”

Spencer cocks his hips and lets go of my arm. “Look, all I’m saying is that I can only vouch for you so many times, even if Ryan would want otherwise. Just because you’re buddying up with Ryan doesn’t mean you get a free pass. If you think that, then you should just leave him alone right now.”

I nearly pray that I don’t look as I scared as I feel. Spencer is still giving me a firm look, his lips pursed in a nasty manner right in my direction. It makes me even more nervous. It’s almost as if Spencer is my date’s father, and he’s instilling his rules into me before I take his little baby out. 

“I can win this competition with or without Ryan.”

Spencer doesn’t seem as angry, more impressed as he shrugs and lets me finally leave. I take calm, even steps out and make sure not to trip like usual. Once the door is shut behind me, I bring a nervous hand up to my hair, running it through the short length. 

Maybe I need to reevaluate what I’m doing. I like Ryan. I like the fact that he doesn’t seem to mind my presence. I like him and it’s not because he could help me further on in the competition. I’ve always had that strange celebrity crush on him, so this really isn’t news. Even if Spencer thinks I’m messing with him, I’m honestly just making friends with someone who I’ve always been a fan of. 

Even if I told Spencer I didn’t need Ryan to win, I can’t help to wonder if I’m wrong and Spencer just knew it before me.

***

I watch as Jon leans forward, rolling up his pant legs and dipping them into the pool. It’s dark out, the mosquitoes probably eating us alive, and the pools eerie lighting is setting a strange mood to our little meeting. It has become a habit for Jon and me to do this, and sometimes a camera man will meet us out here, but tonight it’s just us, the camera perched on walls the only ones watching us. 

“Heard Pete and Gabe are talking about who they’re going after next. They aren’t really worried about this week,” Jon tells me.

I play with the water and respond with, “Why not?”

“I guess they don’t want to seem too obvious,” he says. “I guess they’re worried about the others finding out.” 

Now that the games have actually begun, the challenges serious and actually requiring real talent, the alliance might not even be needed to weed out the weak. It’s difficult to pinpoint the people who could be taken out just yet. Everyone seems talented, which is why they’re here, but there can only be one winner. 

I explain this to Jon, trying to not sound like I’m worrying when I conclude with, “Anyone of us could go home, man.” 

“At least your friends with Ryan and Spencer. That’s gonna give you a good upper hand, I’m sure. The alliance too. I don’t know, I think we could easily be in the bottom three or four together.”

Jon nods for a few moments too long, like maybe he is thinking too much about this all. There is a tiny part of me that was hoping he would say something about how I was too good to go home, like Ryan does when I start to get nervous, but maybe Ryan is just being nice. I can’t get drunk off Ryan’s words, let myself slip up because I think I’ve got nothing to worry about. I know that the people here are talented, and I can’t forget that. 

“So, you and Rachelle, huh?” Jon suggest offhandedly, glancing back to the house.

I instantly freeze up. “What do you mean?” 

He looks back to me with a sly smile on his face. “I thought you had a girl back home? Did you give up on her?” 

“No, it’s not like that,” I explain abruptly. “Rachelle and I aren’t together or anything. She probably wants us to be or something. But no, not really into her, and plus, the girl at home really isn’t into me so, whatever, you know.” 

"Oh.” Jon looks slightly embarrassed. “Now that I think about it, I’ve seen Rachelle close to a lot guys since we first came here anyways. Jesus, how long have we been here?” 

We both laugh and I look up the sky, truly wondering how long it has been. It’s our fifth week so far, but it doesn’t seem like it has genuinely been that long. Everything seems like a whirlwind of excitement, and there is almost always something going on in the house to preoccupy yourself with. 

“Five weeks,” I say, not sure if Jon has already calculated this out for himself. “Crazy to think about.”

***

This week we’re back in the music room for our competition. Since I couldn’t get any information from Ryan, I don’t really have a clue as to what we’re doing. Everyone is starting to look a little worn, like maybe we need some time off before the next competition. I’ve taken on a fairly lax attitude towards the competition, but some of the others are worrying about every single detail. I can’t tell which one is worse.

“Welcome to your week five competition,” Collins says. I smile and nod right on cue, so very used to the cameras on us. “This week, we won’t be making you play a new instrument, but rather one you already know. There’s a twist, though. This week you’ll be performing with three other people and covering a song.”

I instantly look around, hoping maybe for a few seconds that we’ll be able to pick out who we’ll be with, but Collin kills that hope when the cameras click off and he starts naming off who is in what group. I put my hands in my pockets and wait for my name to be called. They’ve probably already picked out who is doing what. Since I know every instrument, who knows what they will make me do. 

When Collin says my name, the group of has whittled down, everyone being directed to a different corner of the music room. I realize that my group has already been formed. Rachelle, Pete, and Ryan are looking over to me. My pulse picks up the second Ryan and I exchange small smiles. This is actually better than I expected; I can work with this.

“Pete, you’re playing bass. Rachelle, drums. Ryan, guitar,” Collin turns to me, gracing me with a smile. “And Brendon, you’re the singer.” 

My face scrunches up with confusion the second he says it. There are a lot of people here who could sing much better than I could, even Rachelle could be singing. It seems silly to give me the responsibility. I know I shouldn’t be angry; I’ll be spotlight, the center stage, the big show-stopper. 

“Here is a list of the songs you guys are allowed to cover. Choose wisely,” Collin informs us as we head to one of the designated corners, a drum set, a bass, a guitar, and three microphones set up. “Like usual, you’ll be performing on Friday. Good luck.”

Once Collin leaves, we’re all awkwardly hunched over the paper, searching for a familiar title. I know a lot of them, but not well enough to play them perfectly in a couple days. One does catch my eye, and when no one speaks up about preferences I decide to take charge, and I’m pretty sure this is the singer’s job, anyways. 

“We should do ‘Beth’,” I announce. “I could probably pick up the piano part pretty easily because I learned it a few years ago. If I’m playing then it will probably give our group an edge.”

“How do you know they’ll let you do that?” Pete asks instantly. I can only imagine he has something against Kiss or something as ridiculous. 

"They’ll love it, Pete. It will piss off everyone else because they didn’t think of it first.”

I’m going for cocky, trying to sound so confident that I’m arrogant. If I have to be the lead singer, then I might as well act like one. I look towards Ryan and Rachelle, looking for a rejection, but they’re both just smiling, looking like they’re seconds from laughing. Pete doesn’t seem impressed but still rolls his eyes in approval. 

“Alright, lets break and learn our parts,” I say. 

The producers help us get everything figured out, giving us sheet music or tabs. They don’t seem against the piano idea and help me get a keyboard set up in front of the new microphone stand. I crack my fingers and get down to learning my part.

***

“From the top,” I mumble half-heartedly for the millionth time. 

I start before everyone else, my fingers nearly fumbling on the keys, but I catch myself. The arrangement is strange, not exactly like the actual song, but I think it might be better. The producers left us with a clear arrangement, but we took it upon ourselves to tweak it.

Rachelle’s drum part sounds sloppy and, as much as I don’t want to admit it, Ryan doesn’t exactly have all the guitar parts down perfectly. We sound mediocre and the only thing I’ve ever wanted was always the complete opposite of that. I want us to be perfect, but we don’t have enough time. 

I barely notice when the band around me stops, and I’m left to just play the piano and sing until I realize it. I look around, my fingers halting. “What?”

Ryan looks at me with an exasperated face, clutching onto the neck of his guitar angrily, but he doesn’t say anything to me. He just purses his lips and looks to the ground. I look over to Pete, knowing he’ll be happy to give me an update. 

“You keep skipping that part before the second chorus,” Pete tells me, cocking his hips and looking just as fed up as Ryan.

“Well why didn’t anyone tell me?” 

“Because you’re fucking crazy,” Pete mutters. He looks off into the distance, perhaps trying to pretend like he didn’t just say that. 

“What does that mean?” I scoff, clicking off the piano, ready for confrontation. 

I figured that there would be a moment in the house where I would lose it, and I think right now is my time. I knew I had to get done with it and not let it last and bother me. If I’m silent, I’ll spend my time harboring hateful feelings against the person instead of worrying about the competition. 

“You’ve seriously turned into an asshole,” Pete tells me. “Ever since they made you the lead singer you thought you were hot shit. Fuck off, okay? We’re all just as important as you.”

My mouth drops open. “Well at least I haven’t been acting like you. It’s like you don’t even give a fuck anymore!” 

People are starting to look over at us, the camera crew now surrounding our group. We’re making a scene and giving the viewers at home something to eat popcorn during. I don’t waste anytime standing up to be right in front of Pete, hoping that the few inches I have on him will make a difference. 

Pete just smirks and shakes his head. “Jesus, Brendon, just calm down. We both know you’re not going to do anything.”

There’s a long moment, one where I’m about to charge at Pete, try my best to simulate one of those fights I see in movies. I want to punch him in the face, yell at him about how much I want this, how I’m not going to let him ruin this for me. I’m really about to start up into action but then there is a quiet, “Brendon,” from behind me. 

I instantly whirl around to find Ryan giving me wide eyes, looking more confused than angry about my swift change in emotions. I exhale and nod in his direction, taking a seat back at the keyboard. I don’t think of Ryan’s eyes as I quietly tell the group to start again. 

I was close to fighting, the one thing that the producers specify we can’t do if we want to stay. I would have automatically been sent home for something as silly as Pete thinking I was an asshole. I realize how pressured I am in this competition. I need this. I can’t mess up. I have to do this perfectly. 

I can’t afford to mess up. 

***

When I enter the room, the first thing I notice are the guitars leaning against the wall. One is a simple acoustic and the other is hollowed-out electric. Instantly, I’m attracted to them, like most instruments. I try to make it look like I don’t, though, smiling at Ryan and sitting down next to him. 

I haven’t talked to Ryan about my little breakdown while practicing, but he doesn’t seem on edge, so I decide that we’re probably pretending that it didn’t actually happen. I was just too stressed at that moment, I had too much going on in my head. Now, though, my mind is clear and I’m ready to perform. 

I’m grateful for what Ryan did, but I’m not sure how to tell him that, so I end up saying nothing. 

“Is this going to become a thing?” I ask him. “Are we going to be meeting in here every time before a competition?”

“What if you get eliminated this week?” 

It seems like something harsh to say, especially after what happened. It would sound bad coming from someone else in the house, but coming from Ryan, a judge, it almost hurts. The thought of going home is always looming in my mind, even when I don’t mean for it to be. I can’t go home until I win, or all of this will be pointless; I’ll be in the same place I was. I’ll be back to living with my parents, my siblings laughing in my face whenever I say that I’m going to become a rock star.

I’m not sure if Ryan even understands how much I want this. Being a musician was all I wanted to do. I was never good at anything in school or ever wanted to be a doctor or a therapist. I spent nights cursing my luck, wishing that I would’ve been born with some desire to have a mundane job. Ryan has my dream job. He has the life I want. 

“I really hope I don’t get eliminated,” I finally mutter, involuntarily biting my lip and trying not to think about going home.

“Wait,” Ryan shoots back quickly, laying a tentative hand on my shoulder. It’s just a simple touch, but it makes me twitchy, makes me want to run laps to burn off all the energy it gives me. I look up to find Ryan’s eyes on me apologetically. “You know I was joking, right?”

I force myself to keep my eyes on him, not moving down to the hand on my shoulder, the grip a little looser than at first, like maybe Ryan is starting to regret it. “I don’t know, man,” I say slowly. “Spencer was saying a lot of stuff about the alliance and it got me nervous. I mean, I’m probably worrying about it too much because these kinds of things usually collapse in a few weeks but…I really don’t want to go home because of something like that.”

"The only thing those alliances can do is mess with you. You’re obviously good at all of this, and confident, so as long as you don’t let them get to you then you’re fine,” Ryan tells me in a soft voice.

I let a long sigh. “We’re talking too much about the show. I don’t think that was the point of this room.”

Ryan breaks into a grin. “You’re absolutely right.” He jumps up off the sofa, going over to the guitars against the wall. He picks them up by the necks and gives me another toothy grin. “I brought these in here. Thought we could jam, you know, practice.” 

I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding, maybe subconsciously waiting for Ryan to say I could play the guitar. He holds the guitars out for me to presumably pick one and I selfishly grab for the hollowed-out electric. If I could save up money properly, I would buy a guitar like this, but as it is, I’m happy to borrow Ryan’s for now. 

“I can’t believe you offered to sing this song,” Ryan murmurs to me, plucking a song out already. 

I get distracted by the way his fingers move on the fret board so easily. I try to keep my thoughts clean, but my brain instantly edges away from reality and tries to formulate something that I really shouldn’t be thinking about if the person is Ryan Ross. I barely even notice that Ryan stops, picking up his head to look at me with a confused expression. 

“Uh, I was just—you’re a really good player,” I say quickly, hoping that Ryan really thinks that that was what I was thinking about. 

Ryan blushes like whenever I compliment him, which makes me feel giddy. He shifts his legs awkwardly, crossing them and placing the guitar back down. “It’s pretty important for the profession I’ve chosen.” 

“Do you wanna play the song then? I know the chords,” I ask, pulling out a few stray picks from my pocket. I pick the one I like the best and flick the rest onto the couch, looking up to see Ryan nodding.

There’s an uncomfortable moment where we have to silently decide who is going to count us in. I end up taking the lead, softly tapping my foot with every number I say out loud. The intro sounds bland, the piano a key component of the song. My voice comes out a little shakier than I want it to. I look down to the frets so I don’t have to look at Ryan’s face.

When I look back at him, though, he’s staring at me, an awed look on his face. He smiles, knowing that he’s been caught, and looks back down to the guitar to play riff. 

I don’t want to feel this. I don’t want to get the most cliché case of butterflies when I look at Ryan, when we have these kinds of moments. I can barely think of what I’m doing, my lips just singing on automatic. All I can really think of is the boy in front of me, the way I feel when I’m with him. 

The song finishes as I let the last chord of the song ring out, and then there is just stark silence. We look at each other, our fingers now frozen still on the guitars. This is where I should be saying something and ending this moment. I don’t. Instead, we end up staring at each other for a few moments longer. 

Ryan starts to slowly put his guitar on the ground, not looking away from me. I know what’s going on at this point. He’s asking for my permission, like I would ever say no. Maybe I should, though, maybe I should make this stop so that I don’t mess up everything. 

I take my chances and watch as Ryan leans in close to me, his face stopping right in front my one. His eyes look different this close, the brown looking more intense, his eyelashes lining them perfectly. I almost start when Ryan’s hand slips onto my face, aligned directly on top of my jawline, as he moves just a little closer to where our lips finally touch. 

It doesn’t last long enough, Ryan pulling away, perhaps realizing what he’s done and then he’s seated next to me, giving me a brutally innocent look. I blink a few times and then we simultaneously let boyish smiles slip onto our face. It only gets better as we start to laugh, my head now in my hands, loud giggles leaving my mouth. 

When I look up, Ryan is rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m gay,” he announces with another string of giggles.

I nod and feel utterly stupid in this moment. “Yeah, me too.”

***

I watch as Jon’s group performs their song. Jon is playing the bass, bobbing his head to the tempo of the song and looking genuinely at peace. It makes me cock my head and smile at him. He’s such an interesting guy that I realize that he is truly my competition. He’s completely at ease, not a fraction of worry on his veneer. The rest of his group seems more anxious, clutching onto their respective instruments and giving the crowd downcast glares. 

My group is next, and I’m sitting next to Rachelle and Ryan, Pete on the other side of Rachelle. Ryan and I keep exchanging smiles, both of us obviously still giddy from our kiss. I can’t remember the last time I felt like this around another guy. Maybe when I got my first boyfriend and everything was new and exciting. I never felt like this with Shane and that doesn’t seem hard to admit. 

Our group probably should’ve practiced more, but after Pete and I’s confrontation, no one was in the mood to practice all together. I spent some time in the music room late last night, using the grand piano to play my part. I really didn’t get into it until the room had completely cleared and I ended up closing my eyes and singing the song to the empty room. I’m hoping that I can keep that mentality during the performance. 

Jon’s group finishes up and while the stage is being switched around, the microphones being lowered and the keyboard being put out, a stage hand is getting us prepped. They gave us in-ears, little ear buds that we use to hear ourselves. They help us wind it through our clothes, and put the microphone pack on, our usual one being taken off. 

We don’t say anything to each other before starting, but I do look over to Ryan, giving him a meaningful look, maybe thinking that that is my way of telling him that I dedicate the song to him. He saved my ass. I need to show him I deserve to be here. 

Despite our rocky practice, the song rolls along nicely. I don’t hear any major mistakes, but that might be just because I’m caught up in what I’m doing. The words flow out on automatic like usual. I feel myself get lost in the music like last night, my whole body slamming forward on the chords that are louder than others. It’s like momentum from then on out. 

When we finish, it does seem perfect. I don’t think I’d ever want to change that memory. Everyone in the crowd claps but they don’t seem as breathless as me. I’m too high on energy to even worry about it, sitting back down next to Ryan in our seats in the audience. I look over to him, and there’s a few seconds of eye contact where I just want to kiss him again.

The rest of the performances go by in blurs and I only really do wake when Ryan stands up to go deliberate with the other judges. My right side seems empty all of a sudden, all that’s left of Ryan is the dwindling warmth on his chair.

When we all get lined up, our rings passed out and our faces dead serious for the cameras, the elimination scene takes place. I’m the first to get called, and I can’t help to give Pete a shit-eating grin as I waltz up to Patrick to give him back my ring. The group slowly gets smaller and smaller, everyone coming over to hug me. 

When the final two are left, I realize what is going on, why everyone seems worried. Pete and Gabe stand there, giving each other disbelieving looks. I hold my breath, thinking back to Gabe’s performance. I don’t remember it being awful, but neither was Pete’s. I didn’t think they’d actually split up their tag team just yet, but here they both are. 

After a few too many tension-filled seconds, Patrick finally calls Pete’s name. Pete looks over to Gabe, his mouth open and his eyes wide. They give each other a weak hug and then Pete steps forward to put his ring away. Gabe leaves upstairs and the group is quiet and whispering to each other. 

I barely even notice the way Pete is glaring at me.


	7. WEEK 6

WEEK 6

 

“You know what today is, right?” 

This is the first thing my mother says to me when I call her. I’ve been neglecting using the phone, and not because it was busy—if anybody asks, though, I’ll definitely use that excuse. Ever since what happened with Shane, I didn’t want to know what was going on at home, thinking maybe it would remind me of him and affect my performance. 

“Not really,” I mumble, deciding not freak out just yet because it probably isn’t that important. 

My mother sighs into the receiver. “It’s your graduation tonight,” she says in a flat voice. 

“Oh,” I say quietly. “Well, you’re not going, are you?” 

“No.”

Before I even found out I had made it into the competition, I knew I was going to be able to graduate early. The only reason I didn’t skip going to school was because I wanted to stay in concert choir. When I made it in, though, I had to quit and very quickly sort out all the things regarding my graduation. Suffice to say, my mother didn’t like the idea. 

“It just would’ve been nice,” she sighs. “You know I support you; that’s why your there. It’s just that graduation is a rite of passage, Brendon.”

I involuntarily roll my eyes. “It’s really nothing, Mom. I know a lot of people here are missing their graduations.”

“Yes, but you’re my child.”

I close my eyes, count to three in my head and then say, “Well, I’m sorry I’m not there. I’m here.”

There is a long moment where neither of us say anything, but I can still hear her breathing. She acts if I want to be missing my graduation. I didn’t have many friends back home, but it would’ve been nice to celebrate with them and move my tassel from the right side to the left, but I’m trying to pursue my dream. Part of me is sad about this all, but I can’t be sad about it right now. Just like Shane, I need to push it to the side; I’ll have time to mourn later.

“Everything is going okay out there, right?” my mother finally asks me, breaking the silence. 

“I guess,” I say coldly, wanting to just hang up and try this again in a few weeks when I’m closer to proving her wrong. 

“Well, we’re all rooting for you at home,” she says. “I’m going to get going now. Bye, Brendon, love you.”

“Yep.” 

I hang up, not feeling in a particularly good mood. When I open the door to the phone room, no one is waiting outside so I don’t have to worry about looking peppy. I slip my hands into my pockets and venture to the kitchen, looking out the window to the back of the yard. No Ryan. I do a quick once-over of the living room and then walk to Ryan’s room. It only takes a few quiet knocks for him to answer the door. 

We both end up saying “hey” at the same time. 

Ryan must notice I’m not in my normal cheery mood and just cracks the door open for me to come in. He must have been seated at the desk because that’s where he goes back to, closing his notebook and capping a pen. I sit on the couch and wait for Ryan to ask what’s wrong. He doesn’t, though. There’s just a long moment of silence that reminds me too much of when I was on the phone with my mother. 

We haven’t exactly talked about the kiss yet. I intended to say something the next time we saw each other but it just didn’t seem important anymore. So, now we’re stuck just ignoring it even if we’re both very obviously aware of it. Ryan knows now, though, he’s knows I’m gay and I now know that he is too. I barely had time to think about it with the competition going on that day. 

I decide that I don’t really want to talk about that right now, though. 

“Tonight’s my graduation,” I finally supply. 

Ryan nods. “I didn’t go to my graduation, either.” 

“I don’t really care about it, trust me,” I attempt to explain. “It’s just, I’m getting stressed, you know? To be home right now, and with my friends, and partying, it just sounds comfortable.” 

It’s not like I would have actually been partying, knowing my friends. We probably just would’ve gone out to eat and then went to someone’s house and ate their entire kitchen. It would have been quaint. And if I would have still been Shane, which I would have been if it wasn’t for this competition, I would be spending the night with and fooling around on the couch in his apartment. 

I tell myself just to breathe, to just not care about this stuff but it’s starting to pile up inside my head. I’m trying so hard to keep it together and impress everyone but I’m not sure if I can anymore. This is just a pipe dream, some fairytale myth that kids like me try to chase instead of properly growing up and getting a mundane job. This is ridiculous. This is—

“Are you okay?” 

Ryan is now seated next to me, his arm extended in my direction but not touching me, like he’s scared. I bring my hands up to my face, covering it and rubbing my eyes. The second his hand touches my knee in some kind of gesture of condolence, I jolt up. No, I can’t let Ryan see me like this. He’s a judge, he can’t see me freaking out about something as stupid as this. 

I walk over to the door, trying to open my mouth and tell him that it’s okay, even if it’s not. I can’t manage to, and my throat feels stuck and nothing comes out so I just wave my hand and jiggle the handle to the door. Before I get anywhere, Ryan turns me around with strong hands and starts to kiss me. 

I make a strangled noise in surprise, which really isn’t the most appealing thing ever, but Ryan persists, pulling closer and putting a gentle hand on my shoulder. His mouth is open just a little and my mind seems to fuzz over, not thinking of anything but the feeling of his lips on mine. 

When he pulls apart he says, “It’s okay,” and I believe him. 

We slowly untangle our bodies and cautiously walk back over to the sofa. I lean my head on his shoulder once we’re seated and try to explain to him the mess in my head. He sits quietly and nods when it seems appropriate. I let go of my fear of him counting this all against me. I know he won’t. Spencer even said that Ryan doesn’t want me going home. 

“You’re honestly doing fine,” Ryan tells me. “I haven’t heard anything bad from the other judges, either.”

I smile. “Are you allowed to tell me that?”

“Probably not, but fuck it, you know? These kinds of shows are always rigged, anyways.” 

The smile on my face stays longer than usual, and when Ryan wraps his arm around me, it only grows. I lean against him and let my mind shut off. Ryan smells nice, like he hasn’t been holed up in the same house for six weeks now. In a cautious manner, Ryan slowly lets his hand wander until it’s right next to mine, and then he’s entwining our fingers and I just let it happen. His hands feel unfamiliar and I have to keep myself from letting my thumb circle. 

“This might seem kind of stupid now,” Ryan says to me. “But, um, I really like you.”

I know I shouldn’t but I just freeze up. The last person who told me that was Shane, right before we fucked on his couch. It shouldn’t feel like a big deal, but I can’t help but to think of it. I know that Ryan is waiting for me to say it back or at least acknowledge him or something. The silence drags on.

Ryan clears his throat awkwardly. “Um, I—“

“I like you too…it’s just.” Say it, Brendon. Say it. “I just broke up with my boyfriend.” 

“Oh.”

Maybe this should sound like celebration, that Ryan and I could do anything, but I don’t want him to be some kind of rebound. I know I like Ryan, but I don’t want to be doing this to feel better. Even before Shane broke up with me, my heartbeat went through the roof whenever I saw Ryan, though. I try telling him this all, but I know it isn’t coming out right. 

“It’s okay,” Ryan says, squeezing my hand that is still in his and then lets go for some kind of emphasis. “You should be focused on the competition, anyway.”

It almost hurts to see how easily he takes this. Maybe I wanted him to deny this all and know that he isn’t some rebound and that I was simply going crazy. He’s being a real gentlemen and this could be the first time that I want a guy to be the opposite. I don’t pick up my head continue lying against him. It might be a little cruel at this point, though. 

“So, um, you might wanna go get ready,” Ryan tells me. 

“Why?” 

“I can’t tell you,” Ryan says in a knowing voice. I lean my head up to see this grin on his face. “But you’re probably going to like it, and honestly, the producers are probably going to tell you about it soon so you should leave.” 

There is a tiny part of my brain that wants to think that Ryan is making this all up and is actually angry at me but I know he isn’t. It takes me a few minutes to completely leave, not wanting to exit the room just yet. When I do make it outside, I see people rushing around. I stop the nearest person who happens to be Gerard, who isn’t in such a hurry as everyone else. 

“Hey, I was outside, did I miss an announcement or something,” I lie, knowing full well the announcements go through the entire backyard. 

Gerard doesn’t seem to notice the lie. “Yeah, we’re ‘going out’, I guess. It’s kind of vague,” he says thoughtfully. “Honestly, it’s probably a party. They always take the final ten to a club or something.” 

“How long do we have?”

“Ten minutes. They’re really gracious here,” Gerard deadpans, accompanying it with an eye roll. 

I smile, thanking him, and then waltzing off to get ready. It was nice of Ryan to try to warn me. Ten minutes isn’t bad to get ready, but I know some of the girls are definitely going to be out the door late. I run a hand through my hair and realize it’s slightly greasy, but it’ll do for a dark club. I shuffle through my clothes, most of which still in my suitcase. I manage to come up with a button up and tight jeans that have holes in the knees. 

I’m buttoning up my pants when Rachelle walks into our room and instead of covering her eyes or even checking me out, she just bursts out laughing. 

“Brendon,” she starts. “You know you’re supposed to get changed in the bathroom, right?” 

I sling on my shirt and shrug my shoulders. “It’s all the way across the house.”

Rachelle giggles and walks over to me, shooing my hands away from the buttons and doing them herself. I hold in a breath of air as she does so, my whole body going stiff. She does everything with complete ease, like she doesn’t even have to worry about it. It makes me even more nervous and mostly just jealous because I know it could really help her. 

After Rachelle is done buttoning my shirt, sending me a smirk and then checking herself in the mirror, we head to the front doors. They have a limo parked outside and everyone coo’s like last time, exclaiming about the leather seats and the decorative pillows. I notice that the judges aren’t with us, which makes me wonder if they’re even coming. 

The club isn’t anything special, just a bunch of people who seem very interested in the camera crew circling us with their non-stop lens. They direct us to an area, with bodyguards and velvet rope restricting anyone else, where all the judges are seated, expensive looking drinks either in their hands or next to them on the table. They seem excited to see us, like we haven’t spoiled their party. 

Though the beginning was a tad awkward and the celebrities were usually flocked by everyone in the house, now everyone has mellowed out, getting used to seeing these famous people walk around with bedhead. Not to say there isn’t shameless flirting and intrusive inquiries anymore because there definitely is. The judges just don’t seem so on edge when anyone enters the room now, at least. 

The second we see them there, sitting like they do this all the time, I instantly find Ryan’s eyes, directed right towards me. I try to convince myself that I don’t blush, but I’m pretty sure I do. He has his hair done with obvious precision and care, and he’s wearing a simple t-shirt and jeans, but it looks classy on him. 

It becomes apparent right away that the producers are really the ones in charge of this little outing. They tell us competitors to leave behind the judges and go dance and it’s not like I would ever say no to that, so the cameras follow all of us, whether we want to or not. The crowd is instantly intrigued by us and circles around our group that is strategically in the back, allowing the cameras easy access out. While the rest of the club seems to be grinding, our group just kind of jumps up and down awkwardly and holds our hands up in that way people on MTV do when they’re partying. 

Everything feels glamorous and stress-free for a few moments, and it’s like Ryan knew I’d like this more than I did. The second the cameras walk away, deciding that they had enough film of us flailing about, everything seems to fall apart. Everyone starts grinding up on each other, the girls giving the guys these speculative eyes. I feel out of place and unsure. 

Rachelle takes notice of my awkwardness and quickly shuffles up next to me and starts to dance on me. It takes me by surprise more than anything. I let her dance on me but there’s still this screaming in my head that’s pointing out that she’s is, in fact, not a boy and I’d rather have a boy dancing on me. None of this stops me from my body reacting, and I end up with what I hope isn’t an obvious hard on. 

Rachelle must realize, though, because she looks over shoulder and gives me a knowing smirk. I nearly choke on the spit in my mouth and then try to think of every disgusting thought as her hips only grind harder. I look away and turn my mind off, but not before I end up seeing Ryan in the sea of people walking around. His eyes are on Rachelle, mouth open just a little with a hint of shock and realization in his eyes. 

I try to look away before his eyes make their way to mine, but Ryan does it the second he notices me watching. I watch as he swiftly walks off. I start to panic because only a few hours ago I was telling him I just broke up with my boyfriend and I didn’t want to get involved. If Jon thought Rachelle and I was a thing, then I’m sure Ryan does too. 

Rachelle doesn’t appear to have noticed our exchange and I place a gentle hand on her shoulder, which makes her turn her head around and give me a questioning glance. I give her an apologetic smile and then nod towards where Ryan went off to. She just shrugs, like it’s no big deal and I don’t look back when I start walking away. 

Well, at least my hard on is gone.

It’s fairly simple to find out where Ryan was heading, the bathrooms the only thing in the direction he was walking. I walk in to find only a few people, but Ryan is the one that I notice first. He’s in front of the mirror, carding through his hair. 

“Ryan,” I say, rushing over to him. “Hey, look, can I talk to you.”

Ryan shrugs and nods his head. 

“Um,” I look around to the room, the people here not seeming interested on who we are or what we’re talking about. “It’s just, I never told you that me and Rachelle—“

“It’s fine. Like, you could’ve just told me that was why,” Ryan says, giving me a tight smile and looking down into the dirty sink.

“No, that’s not it. I’m using her, Ryan. I know it’s probably bad but it’s one less person to not worry about.”

My graceless explanation must take Ryan surprised because his mouth opens just a little again and his eyebrows string together. I get nervous, like maybe I’ll actually have to explain to him how exactly I’m planning on breaking Rachelle’s heart when the time deems appropriate. Just then, though, Ryan starts laughing. 

“Jesus Christ, Brendon,” he says. “You’re serious about this show.”

I smile. “I thought that was already obvious.”

I realize the bathroom is completely empty now, and I’m sure Ryan must notice it too. It leaves us staring at each other and the air filling tension. Before I know it, I’ve got Ryan pushed against the sink, my hands finding his hips as I kiss him effortlessly. I know I should stop, but I can’t find it in myself. I push forward and let my fingers climb under his shirt and touch his skin. 

“You guys are so lucky.”

Ryan and I instantly pull apart, our limbs untangling ungracefully to see who just said that. When my eyes start to work again, I see Spencer, hips cocked and glare pointed in our direction. I look back to Ryan, trying to gauge his reaction on whether Spencer knows about this or not, but he’s just grinning sheepishly and blushing. 

“You’re lucky because I could’ve been anyone in that club. Just imagine if I was someone in the competition. Jesus, what if poor Patrick walked in on that,” Spencer shames us, walking over to the sink and turning it on. “Just a sec, I need to wash my eyes out after that.” 

Ryan lets out a choked laugh, but the truth in Spencer’s words doesn’t go unnoticed. I watch through the mirror as Ryan and Spencer exchange a series of looks, which really just result in them both wearing shit-eating grins. Spencer dries his hands and then puts his arms around Ryan and me, walking us out of the bathroom. 

“How about we go back, huh?” Spencer asks us. “And, Brendon, if you’re nice, I’ll sneak you some of my drink?” 

***

Before they let us go into downstairs for the competition, someone leaves a pile of packages in the foyer of the house. William is the one who stumbles upon them first and then shouts to the entire house about it. Everyone, myself included, rush over to ogle at the packages, thinking that we might have won gifts or something. Upon further inspection, there are names of competitors and judges written neatly on the right hand side of each one. 

I notice that Victoria and Hayley both exchange confused looks, being the first to grab theirs and ripping them open. I realize that they probably don’t know what is going on either. Once they peeled back a layer of plastic, they unravel a black leotard like the ones they use for ballet. Hayley starts laughing, feeling the material. 

“Looks like we all know what we’re doing this week,” she says, going further into the package and pulling out ballet slippers and soft pink tights.

I notice a few guys start to scramble through the pile of packages to look for theirs. I join in too, praying that they don’t make us dance in leotards. After I’ve found mine and ripped it apart, I find a regular cotton t-shirt and a pair of heavy black tights. I inwardly cringe and find a similar pair of ballet shoes too. I can hear a few moans of distress from the guys and a few girls letting out little squeals as they hold up their leotards on their bodies. 

We all leave with our respective outfits to change into them. I find myself in the bathroom with most of the other guys who are looking at their outfits with melancholy faces as they unbuckle their jeans. I quickly slip off my shirt and put on the one they gave us, finding that it’s two sizes too small, and probably on purpose. There’s a slice of skin showing just above my boxers and below the shirt, one that makes color rise to my cheeks just thinking of leaving the bathroom. I quickly put on the tights and cringe at the very noticeable bulge of my dick and the line that runs around my thighs from the boxers I’m wearing underneath the tights. The ballet slippers are really the icing on the cake. 

Everyone looks decently degraded by the time we get downstairs, which I’m sure is what the producers were aiming for. I catch Ryan’s eyes and we both grin at each other. I have to make sure I keep my eyes in check to keep them from wandering a little too far down. 

“You’ve probably already guessed what is happening this week,” Collin tells us. 

There is a woman next to him, who looks to be in her early thirties, her hair up in a high bun and a matching leotard on her own body. She seems comfortable in it, unlike the rest of us. 

“This week you will be learning about not only dancing, but also acting,” Collin explains. “Being a popular musician means that you’ll be making music videos for your songs, and you could very easily find yourself dancing in them. You could also do promotional work in commercials. Today, you’re going to be instructed by Linda Terrington, world-renowned chorographer, and learn a routine that you will perform for a music video later this week. In addition, you’ll also be given scripts that you must memorize.”

I run a nervous hand through my hair as they start dividing us into two groups. It now makes sense as to why they decided to let us go dancing. After my awkward experience at that club, I’m not exactly enthusiastic to dance. I don’t think I’m a bad dancer, and I’ve got the rhythm thing down, it’s just different dancing in front of everyone, staring into the mirrors they’ve set up on the back of the stage. 

Part of the group walks off stage to get their scripts and wait for their turn. Linda jolts into action, placing us where she wants, the three girls in our group, Marina, Rachelle, and Victoria, right in the middle of the guys, obviously being the main focus. That is when Linda starts up the choreography, telling us what to do but not being very specific about it. I feel like a child who hasn’t learned enough during class to take the test. My moves are shaky and unsure because I keep forgetting what is next, but I feel myself slowly start to get better.

We get a short break, one where I gulp down the entire water bottle in a matter of seconds. I lean against the wall, making idle chit chat with William and Victoria.

“No, but seriously, have you ever actually needed to dance in a music video,” William asks, giving her a full smile. 

She just shrugs. “It’s really just about what your music video is about. I’ve never danced, but I could if I wanted to. Maybe you’ll guys decide that you want to dance after this experience.”

I start laughing, lolling my head back onto the wall. “Never. I will never ask to dance,” I say, wiping the sweat away that has accumulated on my forehead.

Secretly, though, the dancing isn’t too bad. It might be hard work, but I enjoy it. Even if my memory isn’t the best, my body moves with a certain ease and familiarity that I didn’t know I had. I kept finding myself looking into the mirrors and catching myself smiling involuntarily. 

When we learn the rest, I try to keep it locked into my brain, deciding that I will write down a summary of the steps once we get out of here. We receive scripts, more stuff to remember, and I nearly give up right then. It feels like we’re back in school and its final week and we’ve realized we didn’t study at all so we have to remember it all somehow. 

The script is some blurb about a fictitious skin care system that makes me scoff a little. It’s all cliché and everything I’m supposed to remember sounds like nothing that would ever come out of my mouth. I read over it a few times, but the words don’t really stick. 

“This could be my demise,” someone says from next to me. 

I look over to find Alex paging through the script with doubtful eyes. “Why?” I ask.

“I’m not good at any of this,” he confides. “I can write songs and sing them, the real stuff, but this is all bullshit.”

“I’m sure you’ll do fine,” I tell him, not entirely sure if he will.

I don’t remember exactly how he was performing when we were practicing, but there was a lot of fumbling going on by everyone. I shrug it off and continue going through the lines, making myself repeat everything back and let the words stick.

***

“Who are we going after this week, boys and girls,” Pete says, sounding unusually determined. 

Ever since Gabe left, he’s been trying to avenge him or something, having the alliance meet quite often and telling us that something like that can’t happen any time soon. We never talk about how once the rest of the competitors have whittled down, we’re all going to be fighting head to head. 

The group stays silent, though. No one utters anything, all of us gathered in the pantry in a tight circle. I slip my hands in my pockets and look away from Pete. Just when I think I’m safe, I’m invisible, Pete goes, “Brendon, you’ve been quiet lately. I’m sure you could have an idea.”

I flinch, looking up to Pete and then involuntarily to Spencer, who gives me a long look that tells me I should really open my mouth. “Well,” I start, turning back to Pete nervously. God, I don’t really want to sell anyone out. I know I have to, though. “I guess Alex was saying that he wasn’t good at all of this stuff.”

Pete smiles cynically. “So, Greenwald is nervous, huh?” he laughs. If Gabe was here you would hear some snide remark that he and Pete would laugh at. It’s silent until Pete says, “Looks like someone’ll have to teach him some wrong moves. Who wants to do it?”

Pete doesn’t look at Spencer because he’s obviously exempt from these kinds of things. When he glances at me I shake my head, enough on my plate to worry about fooling Alex. I don’t need guilt right now. Pete scans the room further and no one steps forth for the duty. 

“Fine, you pussies, I’ll do it,” he scoffs. 

The meeting is adjourned and we’re all left to wonder if Pete will actually do it. 

***

I learn two days later that Pete was serious about this, and when we’re all stretching and getting in our last practice before we perform, I notice that Alex is very obviously practicing some wrong moves. All I want to do is point them out to him, but Spencer and Rachelle are on my team and they’d probably notice and tell Pete, the new official leader of our alliance. I keep my mouth shut and try to prepare on my own. 

Our group is first, and then we go to hair and makeup to prepare for the commercial we have to do. I spent most of last night preparing for the commercial, memorizing the script perfectly. The words feel all jumbled in my head now, though, and the choreography is somehow mixed in up there, too. 

We get called to the stage, the producers granting us different dance clothes, fancy outfits that don’t showcase the outline of my dick. It’s a sigh of relief for the amount of cameras that circle the stage. I take my mark, rolling my shoulders and trying to look confident. 

The music starts and I jump into motion, pushing myself to do everything perfectly. Alex is on my right, just slightly off from the group by a few seconds, but then he goes off the rails completely. He starts doing other things, things that Pete must have taught him, and he’s suddenly bumping into everyone, specifically me. 

I trip a little, Victoria thankfully pushing me back into place before I topple to the ground. I keep myself from giving Alex a dirty look, and then go back to dancing, smiling like it’s no big deal, that I can correct my mistakes in record time. Alex keeps bumping into people, obviously realizing that he’s been taught wrong. 

When the song finishes, only a few people clapping for us, we’re off the stage and walking to the hair and makeup room. 

“What the fuck was that?” Rachelle asks harshly to Alex, acting as if she really doesn’t know. There is real anger in her eyes though, which must be because I wasn’t the only one who got a little off track. 

“It’s Pete’s fault,” Alex says, voice quiet but angry. It’s even bordering on pathetic. 

The group goes silent and when we get to the makeup room, Pete and few others are there and I know it isn’t a good sign. Alex charges over to him, fury erupting from his tiny frame. The room goes silent, everyone looking to them. Pete is giving Alex a smug smirk, standing up to face him. 

“Glad you remembered my moves,” Pete snickers. 

Alex instantly pushes Pete. It isn’t much, and Pete is barely moved by it, but it’s enough to make the smirk wipe off his face. 

“You fucking asshole,” Alex hisses through clenched teeth. “You really think this is going to help you win?”

“Well, you did pretty badly, so I guess it’s already working,” Pete scoffs. 

Alex looks like he wants to punch Pete, like he wants to push him much harder than before, but before he can, a producer tells them they need to be on stage and Pete smirks one last time before waltzing off. Once their all gone, Alex storms to the corner and kicks the wall harshly. He lets out a quiet “fuck” and then bows his head against the wall. 

Everyone slowly gets kicked into motion, the makeup artists pulling us towards the chairs, leaving Alex to sulk for now. As I’m getting a heavy foundation coated onto my face I really just want to go calm down Alex. Tell him to shake it off. He’s here for the competition and he can’t let Pete get to him. I’ve tried that bit already and it did nothing. I stay seated and then get whisked off to get changed. 

My commercial goes by quickly, my words having been memorized better than I thought they had been. When I’m done, though, I watch as Alex goes after me. Some people are crowded around me, obviously interested to see how he’ll perform. Like everyone expects, he bombs it. He’s fumbling his words, starting to get teary eyed as he fails to deliver lines. Once the director has to stop completely to talk to him, I leave. 

I find myself staring at my own reflection until we’re called back for elimination. Everything feels bittersweet as I get called up right away, my performance obviously impressive. When Alex gets told he’s going home, no one is surprised. He does actually break out crying and I stare at the ground feeling guilty. 

Pete is serious. It’s now very obvious. Gabe’s elimination has obviously fueled the competitiveness in him. I’m genuinely scared to see what’s next. Once again, I’m reminded that I need to keep stepping up my game, even if I’m in the alliance. No matter what Ryan says to me, I know I need to remember that I’m not here for Ryan, but for me.


	8. WEEK 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, since I've gone back to school, I decided to change the posting date of this to Saturday so I can have all day to finish up writing and stuff. That is all.

WEEK 7

“I can’t believe you eat your cereal like that,” I shake my head with faux, but pretty much real, disgusts as I watch Ryan eat his breakfast. 

Ryan rolls his eyes and continues to eat the cereal that has accumulated at the top of his bowl, not even touching the milk. “Excuse me for not wanting my Cheerio’s to be soggy,” Ryan scoffs, sending me a soft smile. 

There are a few other people in the kitchen, cooking breakfast or talking to the others, but the only person I’m really concentrated on is Ryan. He’s seated next to me at the kitchen, his elbow just barely toughing my own. We don’t spend much time outside of his room together, so it might be surprising to the viewers how close we seem. Ryan doesn’t seem concerned about it, so I decide not to be either. 

It’s still strange to spend time with him out in the house for all the cameras to see. We spend some afternoons outside in the backyard and Ryan will read and I’ll bring a notebook with me so I don’t bother him, but I always end up writing nothing and spend the time peeking up to look at Ryan’s concentrated face as he reads. Besides those trips, though, we don’t see each other outside of his room. 

“No, it’s not ‘soggy’, you make it sound bad,” I defend myself, trying to show him how the cereal really looks. 

“Because it is bad, Brendon,” Ryan laughs, knocking his elbow into mine playfully. 

I’m about to explain to him my methods, but then a loud voice takes Ryan and me out of our bubble. We both look over our shoulders to see Pete and Marina both giving each other glares. 

“I know what you did, Pete,” Marina yells at his face. “Alex told me you ‘helped’ him with the dance. Don’t you dare fucking lie to my face.” 

Pete doesn’t look fazed. He shrugs. “What are you going to do if I really did teach him the wrong dance?” 

“I will get you sent home the same way Alex was. He didn’t deserve to go home, but you do,” Marina counters, now closer to Pete, her eyes shining darkly. 

“Hey, it’s not just my fault he went home,” Pete says. “I didn’t mess up his commercial. He did that himself.” 

“He was angry because of you!” Marina yells now. 

I look over to Ryan, who doesn’t seem confused at the slightest like I thought he would be. He knows about the alliance and everything, but the producers must show them clips of us talking or something. He and the rest of judges must know about how I was the one who started this. If I would have just ignored Pete and had balls for one minute, we probably wouldn’t be in this mess. Now, I’m worried that the judges will hold this against me. 

Pete is now walking away, rolling his eyes and fetching a bottle of water from the fridge. Marina doesn’t seem finished, though, and walks around the counter and stands in Pete’s way. 

“The judges will find out about all your shit Pete,” she snarls at him in a quiet voice. 

I instantly look back to Ryan, who is smirking at me. He mouths ‘we already know’ to me, and I try not to start laughing since the entire room is quiet, everyone’s attention on Pete and Marina. 

Pete just smirks and then nudges his way past Marina. As he walks out he says, “If you’re trying to scare me, it’s not working.” 

Once Marina and Pete have officially stormed out, the whispering and soft chuckles start up. Ryan and I just smile at each other and go back to arguing about our cereal. I watch as a few producers wander around, asking for people to go and talk to the camera on the recent events. I almost worry about leaving Ryan’s side, but then I notice that they’re taking people up in pairs, something that’s only happened once so far. 

Ryan and I are still sitting at the kitchen table when producers come to fetch us. They ask us if we want to do it together, and I hesitate wondering if Ryan will want to do that, being a judge in all, but he smiles and nods and starts pulling me away from my dirty bowl still sitting in front of me. 

The official term for the room is “The Confessional” but that only makes it sound like some religious ordeal. Really, though, people just come in here and complain about other contestants or vent about their worries. Usually when I’m in here I just make jokes in hopes people will find it endearing. I, not unlike the others in the house, do usually end up slandering about every person here. 

“What do you think of Pete,” the camera man asks us the second Ryan and I have been seated. 

I look over to Ryan and say, “Cover your ears, real quick.” Ryan rolls his eyes and then puts his palms over his ears. “I think Pete’s an asshole.” 

Ryan starts chuckling, his hands falling from his ear. “Why do you think he’s an asshole?” 

I push Ryan a little, faux gasping. “Oh my gosh, Ryan! I asked for confidentially and you just listened.”

“Then why would you come into a confessional with a judge?”

I pretend to be shocked again. “You’re a judge?”

Ryan rolls his eyes again, smiling at me in that way I’ve come to love. He eases back into the chair and waits for another question. 

We end up staying in confessional for at least an hour, both of us making shitty jokes and scoffing at each other’s answers. I think the camera man was starting to get annoyed but he kept firing away questions for us to answer. The camera man leaves before us, going to go find others to interview. Ryan holds onto my arm instead of letting me go forward and following the guy out. 

“So I was thinking,” Ryan tells me once the door has been shut and we’re alone. “You should stay the night in my room, we can, like, bring in blankets and…” 

“A sleepover?” I question when he obviously doesn’t know where to go next. 

Ryan’s face turns red. “Not a sleepover,” he explains. “You’ll just sleep in there with me and we can play music and talk and stuff.”

“So a sleepover?” I repeat with a shit-eating grin. 

“Fine, whatever, a sleepover,” Ryan finally admits. 

“Do you have to ask your parents first? Should I bring a board game over or something?”

“Fuck off,” he smiles. “I’m serious. Just come to my room at like ten or something.” 

***

Pete stops me as I’m rushing off to Ryan’s room. I had already been late, having been distracted by the grand piano in the music room. Now, though, Pete is blocking the way right out from my room. He has on his usual brooding face, his black hair dipping into his eyes. 

“So, Brendon,” he says to me, giving me tight smile like he isn’t blocking me and forcing conversation. “Why is that everyone is upset with me about what happened to Alex, but not you?”

I squint my eyes in confusion, shaking my head. “Obviously because you’re the one who taught him the wrong dance,” I explain with blatant disinterest. 

“You were the one who told me to do it to him, though.”

“Yeah, but you were the one who had the idea and who did it, so just fuck off and stop trying to push the blame on me,” I say, rolling my eyes and trying to push past him. I’d much rather be with Ryan right now, who is probably worried that I ditched him or something, than arguing with Pete about this. 

“You should’ve been the one to teach him the wrong dance, though, Brendon. You haven’t done anything for the alliance.”

“Rachelle hasn’t either!”

“How do you know?” Pete hisses, leaning in closer to me like he was doing when he was fighting with Marina. 

I just laugh. “Pete, just leave me alone, okay? If you don’t think I’m doing anything then I guess I’ll just tell the entire house about what you guys are doing.”

Even if I want him to, Pete doesn’t falter with his fast reply, “You think they’ll believe you?” 

“I haven’t done anything incriminating yet,” I shrug. “But you have.” 

This time, Pete does seem to look a little shocked. The expression doesn’t stay for long, and he quickly switches back to his hard glare. Before he can even say anything else, I push past him and head off to Ryan’s room, my head feeling fuzzy. 

***

“When did you know?” 

Ryan and are face to face on the couch, lying together with a blanket thrown over us. It had been awkward when I first arrived, not sure what exactly Ryan wanted to do all night. Now, though, it’s easier. It must be past midnight, but we’re not completely sure with the lack of clocks. Talking seems to be our last resort at a time like this. 

Ryan nuzzles closer to me, his nose now touching my collar bone. “That’s pretty vague, Bren,” he mutters. “When did I know I wanted to be a musician? When did I know I wanted to—“

“You were gay. When did you know?” 

“It was never like that,” he says. He now has his index fingers running along my arm, going under the blanket until he reaches my hand and grasps it tightly. “I just knew since I was young.”

“And you’ve just hid it from people? Never told anybody besides Spencer?” 

“You do what you have to do.”

I let my fingers run through is hair as I let out a sigh. “Maybe your dad will be okay with it. You already said your mom probably wouldn’t care.”

“You don’t know him. Like, I would come home from a tour and he would ask me how many chicks I did. He just—he would make it into something it wasn’t,” Ryan whispers to me. “I can’t even imagine my parents knowing like yours, to not…have to pretend.”

Ryan’s breath is hot on my neck, almost as if his mouth is open but he doesn’t know what to say. I don’t think a thing about the people outside this room, probably all wondering where Ryan and I ran off to. I know we need to slow this down, not spend all the time in here. Ryan’s already getting heat for stealing me away, but it’s hard to be back out in the house and not want to have my arms around him like this. 

“I wish I would’ve told them though. If I tell them now, it’d be embarrassing. Especially after knowing it my entire life,” Ryan says carefully. 

“Do it. Just—Ryan, do it, okay? If you want to come out then do it. You shouldn’t have to hide that from them.”

“Yeah, but, I want to come out, like, completely.”

“Publicly?” I ask, knowing that that is most likely what he’s talking about. 

Ryan’s grip gets noticeably tighter, like he’s scared of it all. “I know, I know,” he says. “It’s a little dramatic. I’ve always wanted to, though. It would be freeing. I mean, everyone usually guesses I’m gay.” 

“Wow, that’s…” I trail on, not sure what to think. 

Ryan’s an established musician, his band popular enough to where he gets flooded by paparazzi, and his coming out wouldn’t go by unnoticed. It wouldn’t only change his perception but also his band’s. It’s a risky thing, even if more and more people do it now. Ryan knows all of this, and that’s probably why he’s leery to even think about the idea. 

“Maybe you should,” I mutter, knowing this is what Ryan wants to hear. I care about him, but that kind of a decision needs to be made by him and not by some guy he’s got a crush on.

“It would be so great,” he says dreamily. “You could too, you know that. We could just walk around holding hands and hugging and everyone would know. You could live with me and we could…we could go to each other’s families for Christmas and—“ 

Ryan sighs, like he knows this is all some dream and not real. He knows it’s just child’s play. I want to be that guy though, even if it all seems a little fast. I want to be the faithful boyfriend, but I have to remember my career. I want to be a musician and that has been my dream since I was eight. Ryan, though, I’ve only wanted to be his boyfriend for a month now. I don’t know how far Ryan and I could go, but my career needs to come first. Maybe if I was like Ryan, and I had a band and money, I could come out and people would still respect the music. 

“I’m sorry,” Ryan apologizes quietly. “I shouldn’t have said that. I’ve just never had someone like you.”

This is where I get nervous. Ryan, having been closeted his whole life, probably doesn’t have much experience with guys or dating in general, if not any. I don’t just want to be his first boyfriend who he thinks is the world because he’s never been with anyone else. I’ve been there in my life, and I really don’t want this to be a fluke.

“It’s alright,” I finally say, closing my eyes and hopefully inconspicuously inhaling Ryan’s scent. 

“I’ve always wanted someone to talk to at three in the morning,” Ryan admits, though I doubt he knows if it’s actually three in the morning. It sounds like a good number to decide upon. 

“I say all the wrong things at three in the morning.”

“Nah,” he says sagely. “You just say what you want to because you don’t have the guts to say it anytime else.” 

***

“No, Gerard, you have it all wrong,” I say to him, ripping a piece of notebook paper out. 

We’re all waiting to get called down for the competition. In the meantime, though, we’re entertaining ourselves with making paper airplanes. It’s starting to feel like we’re back in elementary and we’re going to start making Cootie Catchers and playing MASH. 

“Fold the wings another time, but like, at the top,” William directs me. 

I ignore him, starting from scratch and handing him the mess of an airplane I made. The notebook was new when we started away on it, but now it’s whittling down to the last few pages, everyone in the house now seated on the couches in the living room making paper airplanes. One of them hits the side of my head and I instantly look up to find who threw it. Of course, Ryan is the one smiling softly at me. 

We haven’t mentioned anything about what Ryan was saying when we had a sleepover. I know he meant was he was saying, though. I feel guilty about it all, knowing that he’s scared to come out because of the public eye on him. It makes me wonder about my own future and how I might feel if I ever do actually get famous. I know I’ll get sick of it, just like Ryan has. 

I also know I shouldn’t be thinking that far already. I just need to win this show and then somehow write an amazing album that people can’t help but to love. For now, all I have is this show, which apparently contains making paper airplanes. 

“This is so stupid,” Gerard mutters right before Spencer yells, “Okay, everyone, get your airplane ready. We’re going to throw them around at three, okay?”

Everyone finishes up making theirs or picks one up from the ground and then we start counting down from three, slowly enough to where you can hear the giggles between the numbers. When there is a loud three called out, I’m about to throw mine towards Ryan as some kind of revenge, but I nearly forget when I see all the paper airplanes getting thrown around. Most of them fly above my head, but some seem to circle around me and one hits me in the leg. I realize that this is a million times better than some graduation where we would’ve thrown our hats. 

After our planes have all floated to the ground, the producers start rounding us up and telling us to go downstairs. Thankfully, they don’t supply us with a mandatory outfit. I’m feeling recharged this week, or at least after the sleepover. Talking to Ryan always gives me hope that this could all work out even if there’s an undertone of worry in nearly everything he says. 

Collin is standing by another person this week, his matching smile just as bright, his name being Mitchell Trenton. According to Collin, he is a famous interviewer, but none of us know who he is, but we smile and will probably talk about how much we love his work in confessional because that’s how these things work. The guy looks quirky, a suite on, a hand microphone in his grip, the cord appearing to have been chopped off. 

Interview training is supposed to be beneficial for us, but if we can interview it will help us nail promotional jobs, or so Collin says. It doesn’t sound like too hard of a task; I know how to talk and God knows I like to talk about myself. 

“You’ll all get the chance to be interviewed by Mitchell today,” Collin says. Cue some more excited expressions from the crowd. “Then, on Friday, you will each interview someone very special, but it will have a twist.”

Once the cameras have been shut off and everyone is given an order, I can hear the whispering about who we’ll be interviewing. I hear some people name famous actors, and that sounds like a fairly decent guess considering that’s who usually gets interviewed. There are a lot of musicians we could interview too, besides the ones living with us. 

We get to watch the person as they’re being interviewed by Mitchell. Crystal is the first to go, giggling nervously when Mitchell just simply says hello. He asks mundane questions, stopping sometimes after she answers something, telling her what to do. It all seems a little silly, but I figure it’s important if they’re teaching us. 

When Gerard gets up there, Mitchell seems about a million times more enthusiastic about it than Gerard. He rolls his eyes a little at some of the questions and the room instantly goes tense. Mitchell is very specific about not wanting to come off as arrogant, but Gerard just keeps giving him clipped answers. 

When it’s my turn, I’ve listened to some of the other interview tips and I try to utilize them all, look like I already know what I’m doing. 

“Hi, Brendon,” Mitchell says to me with a kind smile, briefly looking down to the stack of notecards in his hand. “So, I heard that you actually missed your last two months of high school to be here, how has that been for you?” 

I lick my lips and smile, hoping to look friendly. “Well, not so bad. I mean, my mom and I argued about it and it seemed kind of silly but it’s not like it was her last two weeks of high school and—“

“Brendon, Brendon,” Mitchell says, laughing. I can hear some snickers coming from the people watching and I promptly start to blush, realizing that it only took me the first question to mess up. “Keep it short, okay, bud. You don’t want to sound too personal, like you’re ranting or giving too much away to the public. You could’ve said something about how your mother was weary about the idea but that you both knew it was essential for your success and kept it like that.”

I nod firmly and then go back into interview mode, deciding to lighten up just a little. I want to get people laughing at funny things I say rather than laughing at me, and I do this, making jokes in between my answers. By the time I finish, even Mitchell is doubled over, laughing into his palm. 

“Okay, I’ve had enough of you Brendon Urie,” Mitchel jokes. “Be careful, though, you don’t want to look like you don’t care about the questions. So, keep the jokes to a minimum.”

When I step back into the crowd of onlookers, I feel radiant, like I just did a golden job. I know I’ll do fine this week. Even with this knowledge, I do make a point to watch the rest of the interviews, paying close attention to the judges. They seem much more comfortable talking about things in a nonchalant manner. Mitchell doesn’t really stop them and explain things, but every once in a while he’ll do it jokingly, like when he was interviewing Ryan and Patrick. 

Once everyone is done, Mitchell tells us that one person is going to win a trip out of the house to go out to a dinner for doing the best during the competition. I’m expecting him to call my name, so when he says that the winner is Jon, I get a little surprised. I end up looking to the ground in disappointment and envy. People laughed when Jon was getting interviewed, sure, but it wasn’t anything special. 

I still congratulate Jon, even if it hurts a little to do so.

***

Pete makes sure to stand right next to me, his shoulders digging into mine in a fashion that is anything but friendly, when our alliance meets in the pantry. Everyone looks tired and worn, obviously not wanting to be here anymore. I’ve talked to Jon and even he said that he didn’t like what Pete was doing, but it wasn’t like he was going to quit. Spencer, though, isn’t even here, which makes me wonder if he was sick of Pete. 

“How would we even get to someone this week?” Rachelle snorts in Pete’s direction. “Are you going to teach someone the wrong way to interview another person or…?” 

I stifle my laugh, smirking at the ground and hoping that Pete won’t notice. I try not to think that he’s above me because in all honesty he isn’t. I know it’s just because I’m scared that Spencer is still interested in this group and Pete is the one calling the shots on who Spencer likes. 

“Glad you’re finally bringing ideas to the table, Rachelle,” Pete retorts. “But, no, that’s not what we’re doing this week. What we are going to do is tell the judges bad things about William.”

I instantly look over to Jon, who appears frozen. I know he’s gotten close to William. “Wait, why William?” Jon asks. 

Pete seems only a little offended that Jon would question him. “Because he’s annoying. And he’s competition.”

“That’s not even a legitimate excuse. He’s a good guy and—“ 

“It doesn’t matter if he’s a good guy, Jon,” Pete interrupts him harshly. “This is a competition and he’s not just going to let you win because you think he’s a ‘good guy’, alright? Now, the plan is for everyone to talk to the judges, you know, trash talk about William.”

“Don’t you think they’ll know what’s going on?” Jon scoffs. 

“Spencer will help us, don’t worry,” Pete defends right away. “So, Rachelle, you can talk to Hayley. Jon, talk to Victoria. I’ll talk to Patrick and,” Pete turns to me with a snarl of a smile on his lips. “You, can talk to Ryan, right?” 

I try not to look like a deer in the headlights, but I suddenly feel panicked. “Uh…yeah, sure,” I mumble out, tapping my fingers against my thigh rapidly. 

“Great,” Pete says, smiling even wider now. “You could go do it now. I’m sure you’ll be able to find him.”

I can’t manage to act normal, so I decide to take my chance and leave right away, scurrying out of the pantry to go find Ryan. My hands feel sweaty as I walk outside, the sun shining brightly, making me even more nervous. Ryan is right where I thought he would be and Pete was definitely right about that part. He’s perched under a tree, a notebook in his grip, pen moving rapidly across the page. 

When I sit down next to him, instead of across from him, he looks up with a puzzled expression on his face. Once he sees it’s just me, he smiles easily at me. I don’t return the favor, only gesture to the notebook in his hands. He must catch on quickly, turning to a new page and handing it over with the pen. 

‘Does Pete know?’ I write down. I look up to find Ryan looking even more puzzled than before. I quickly add, ‘about us?’

“How would he?” Ryan asks out loud.

“I don’t know,” I say slowly. “He just, he made it sound like…”

“I wouldn’t worry about it, Brendon,” Ryan says. 

He says it with such nonchalance that I believe him. I even manage to forget about what happened until we get called down for our interviews and elimination on Friday. I realize I never even made it look like I was trash talking about William to Ryan. Like Spencer said, I can’t be reliant on Ryan. It’s probably better that I didn’t; now I can just lie to Pete and he’ll probably never know. 

The producers are putting us into a line, three dividers set up the large room. I’m the first person in one of the lines. Someone is explaining to us that we were supposed to go in and once we sit down and handed a microphone, the interview starts. We’re supposed to fill the entire five minutes with talking. There is going to be a camera recording us and we have to say a little blurb of introduction before we start into it.

They let the first three people go into the individual spaces and I nearly burst out in laughter when I step inside. This is when I finally catch onto the fact that the judges have been absence for a while, and they must’ve been down here the entire time, prepping to get interviewed. Of course, Ryan is the one who is sitting down behind a desk, a smirk on his face. 

I take a moment to sit down, composing myself before I get handed my microphone. Ryan has gone serious, sitting up straight and giving me a doubtful look.

“Hi, I’m Brendon Urie, for Key of Victory TV, and I’m here with,” I hold out the microphone in Ryan’s direction, a beaming smile on my face. 

“Do you not know my name?” Ryan snaps right back. 

I suddenly realize that this was the twist that Collin had referred to. I’ve seen Ryan’s interviews and I know that he wouldn’t ever do that. It startles me, though, and I nearly choke up until I naturally reply with, “You would never let me forget it,” I joke, smiling to ease off the sarcasm. “As I was saying, I am here with Ryan Ross from the band Affinity. How are you today?” 

I hold out the microphone sweetly. Ryan just shrugs and mumbles, “Fine.”

I decide not to think about my questions, just to keep going and make sure I don’t have a lot of silence. “Would you mind telling us the whole band came together?”

“I would mind actually,” he says to me. 

I try not to make my sigh audible. “Alright, do you want me to do it?” 

“By all means,” Ryan shrugs. 

I turn back to the camera, smiling like none of this is affecting me. “Ryan here, and his childhood friend, Spencer Smith, who is also taking occupancy at the house this season of Key of Victory, decided they wanted to make a band after they watched a documentary on Nirvana. They didn’t actually learn their instruments until a year after watching the movie, but they picked up a few other musician friends and they started the band Affinity.”

Ryan seems appeased. “Close enough,” he mutters. I can tell he’s trying not to smile. 

“How do you like being in the house with all of us competitors?”

“I’m mostly scared about you guys taking pictures of me while I’m sleeping and then putting them on your blogs.”

I can’t help but to laugh just a little. “Oh, well, then I should probably delete those photos after this interview, huh?”

Ryan leans forward into the interview that I don’t even have extended for him. “Yes please,” he smiles. 

***

I wouldn’t say I was nervous for elimination. I don’t think I did a bad job, and I still can’t think of one moment of silence in the interview. Ryan didn’t exactly warm up so most of the interview was just me making bad jokes and trying to get Ryan to talk more. I doubt I’ll go home because of my interview. At this point in the show, though, if no one does bad, the judges are forced to look at past weeks.

Besides being worried about how I did, I’m also curious to see if William will go home. I’m not sure if anyone actually did put in the effort to fulfill Pete’s wishes and talk to their judge about William, but if they did, I want to know if it will work. Besides Gabe, so far everything that Pete has wanted, he has got. 

When the elimination starts, Spencer being the one to call us up, everything seems extra tense. Since there is less of us, the group seems to fall away so easily. It leaves me feeling uneasy, wondering if the judges would eliminate me for something I’ve done in the past, or even worse, for what I’ve done in the alliance. When William gets called, I know that if the judges had heard anything about him, they didn’t take it to heart. 

Next, I watch Pete walk up and thank Spencer with a big grin embossed on his face and I start to feel even more nauseous. I get called up right after Pete, and it feels more like a sick joke than a good thing. Spencer looks mildly worried about me, but I shrug it off and join the group. 

The last two that are left happen to be Gerard and Crystal. Crystal looks tense, her hands balled into fists at her sides. Gerard, on the other hand, is more relaxed not looking worried about his ominous fate. It seems strange to me, but I’m in the clear already so I can’t be bothered to care.

Spencer calls Gerard’s name but instead of walking up with relief washing over his features, Gerard just stands there perfectly still in what definitely doesn’t look like shock. Crystal has already started crying, using her sleeve to wipe at her eyes. 

“I don’t think I wanna stay in the competition anymore,” Gerard says finally, breaking the silence. “I don’t like it here. I don’t think right now is the right time.”

I hear a few gasp and then Spencer widens his eyes and nods. “If that’s your decision,” he says. “Crystal, you get to come back now, in place of Gerard.”

Crystal hugs Gerard and I can hear her muttering careful thanks to him. When Crystal goes to give Spencer her ring, she abruptly hugs Spencer too, who awkwardly wraps his arms around her in return. 

We’re all obviously surprised that Gerard would voluntarily go home but all of us, who clearly want this more than the world. It’s difficult to digest that Gerard was just here without all the desire that we all have. It’s one more person that I don’t have to worry about now, though.


	9. WEEK 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi. I am back. Regular updates from now until the end of the fic. The break was nice and I actually wrote a standalone au based on the movie TiMER and you can read that on my profile. Alright, thanks. I'm going to bed.

WEEK 8

 

Rachelle is officially following me around like a lost puppy, and maybe the cliché is overused, but it seems to be the only way to accurately describe her. I’m not even sure what sparked it either. She just likes to find me and then curl up by my side on the couch or follow me into the music room and compliment everything I do or grab my hand. It makes me feel like I’m being strangled and I’m not sure how to push her away. 

Sure, I had a plan to break her heart and then watch as she went home, but now I’m not so sure about that plan. Pete is intimidating and I’m scared if I do something to Rachelle, he’ll go after me. I don’t doubt it. I just have to show enough indifference until Rachelle just gives up on me. 

Right now, we’re outside. I’m sitting on a chair, overlooking a group of conversing people. Rachelle is standing next to me, her hand resting on my bare shoulder. It’s warm outside and her hand feels sticky and uncomfortable. I try to ignore it as I talk to Patrick, keeping up conversation about different tunings on guitars. 

There’s a bleak spot in our conversation, though, and Rachelle pounces on it. “Move over, Bren,” she tells me, using my nickname like she owns it. I don’t like the way it rolls off her tongue and I’m about to debate whether or not to let her sit, but I finally do move over a little. She takes the space and pushes us together, only making the situation even more sticky. “Did I do something wrong?” 

Patrick is talking to someone new now, obviously deciding that Rachelle and I were satisfied talking to each other. I sigh. “Nope,” I tell her in a wistful voice. 

“I just kind of,” she pauses and looks down awkwardly. “I thought we would get together or something?” 

I lean forward in disbelief before it’s too late. “Rachelle, no,” I stutter. “It’s just that—“

“Do you not like me?” By the tone of her voice I can tell she obviously hasn’t got declined by many boys. She’s a pretty girl, sure, the American blonde that little girls dream to be, but she obviously isn’t what I’m looking for, and there is no way to tell her this. 

“I like you,” I say quickly, but I realize after saying it that it might sound different to her than me. 

“Then why wouldn’t we be a thing?” 

I’m suddenly very aware of the people listening to us, everyone’s head snapped in our direction. I hear Marina giggle and she says, “Brendon, you’re going to ruin the romance of the season.” 

I look around to everyone laughing and Rachelle’s face is the opposite, a bright crimson. She seems embarrassed but she’s the one who decided to do this now, right in front of everyone. “I’m just not looking for romance,” I say evenly. It’s not a strange thing to say. 

“You sound so gay right now, Brendon,” Heather snickers. 

This time I start to blush like Rachelle even if I tell myself not to. I’ve had loads of people say that to me. I shouldn’t blush but I do. 

“Aw, he’s blushing,” Marina teases. “Are you gay then?”

I know she’s joking and it’s no big deal and I could just laugh it off, but I don’t. And I don’t know where it comes from but I go, “Yeah, I actually am. I’m gay.” 

The patio goes distinctly quiet. Marina and Heather are obviously surprised, like just a little guilty for messing with me. Marina is the first to pipe up with, “I didn’t know, wow, Jesus, I’m sorry.” 

I don’t really care about the teasing, though. I’ve had too much of that in high school to be put off by it now. What really matters is the way everyone is looking at me. I can see it, I can literally see the pity in their eyes and it makes me want to flee to the bathroom and throw up my breakfast. I finally take one regretful glance to Rachelle, who seems more upset about this than I do, her mouth hanging open. 

“Why wouldn’t you tell me?” she hisses, sounding betrayed. 

“I didn’t think—“

“You fucking knew, don’t give me that shit, Brendon,” she says, standing up abruptly and walking off. 

Everyone that is left just gives me one last sad look before slowly falling back into conversations with the person next to them, probably waiting for me to leave so they can talk all about me. I grant them this, leaving to go hide in the bathroom.

***

I try to ignore Ryan for the remainder of the day, definitely not wanting to see him. By coming out, I feel like he’ll be angry. Like maybe this will make it harder for him to come out now. People might already be thinking that Ryan and I could be a thing, at least in the house, and if Ryan came out to the world, it would have to be obvious. It would like I cheated my way to where I am in the competition. 

So, I ignore Ryan, but of course, he finds me. By the look on his face, I can tell he knows what’s happened. I wouldn’t be surprised if the whole house knew. I just follow Ryan silently to his room and when he closes the door, closes off the cameras and microphones and eyes of everyone else, I fall apart, latching onto his body and hugging him. 

“I fucked it all up,” I say quietly right before I start crying. 

It’s all rather pathetic but it’s not like I can keep it from happening. He guides me to the couch, a fragile hand on my waist. I fall into his grip too easily, letting my face rest against his chest, hiding it away. My sobs grow worse the more I think of what I’ve done. It didn’t seem bad before, when I thought of it, when it was just an idea, a passing whim. Now, though, I’ve really messed up and I just now realize it. 

“They’re not going to let me win,” I choke out into Ryan’s chest. 

“Why would they do that,” he say in a careful voice, fingers playing with my hair just as equally careful. 

“Everyone knows I’m gay now,” I stutter out, my voice sounding constricted, unsure of itself. “They wouldn’t let that happen even if I was the best person here.” 

“It’s going to be fine, Bren, it’s okay,” he says to me. “You’re the best here and they wouldn’t do that.”

I stay quiet, partly pleased with Ryan’s compliment but also still mulling over what’s going to happen to me. I know Pete’s going to go after me, or at least never shut up about it. He’ll probably try to blame me for Gabe going home and then say that I’m tearing apart the alliance. This will be the reason I’ll go home, even if I don’t perform badly. The producers will probably just make it look like Pete got to me. 

I know my days are numbered here, so I properly wrap my arms around Ryan and I just let us sit in silence. Who knows how much longer I’ll be able to curl up against him and kiss him and—

“What happens after this competition, Ryan?” I ask, some fear showing in my words. 

I never thought of this part. The part where I go home, heart torn in two because of losing and Ryan staying and finishing the season, hugging the winner and then going back to being a real celebrity. It’s not like we would be able to see each other after all of this. He’s going to have to go on tours and interviews and writing music and I’ll just be some passing thought on lonely nights. 

“I’m not really sure,” Ryan muses out loud. 

I let go of the idea, not wanting to think of it right now. Instead, I pick up my head and push closer to Ryan so that we’re face to face, only a few centimeters apart. I lean my forehead against his for a few moments, Brendon’s breath hot on my chin. I finally push forward until our lips touch and then Brendon seems to spark to life, a hand finding my face and his lips moving gracefully over my own. 

As the kisses get heavier, I find myself straddling Ryan, my fingers slipping under his shirt to feel his skin. Ryan lets out an appreciative noise, not exactly a moan, but it’s enough to make me antsy, my fingers involuntarily fidgeting with the button on Ryan’s jeans. My tongue has found his way into his mouth and one of Ryan’s hands is tangled in my hair, pulling at it slightly. 

Since I hear no oppositions, I start to work off Ryan’s shirt, our kiss breaking for enough time to take off his and then my own. Our skin feels hot against each other. My hands glide over the pale expanses, ending right where his jeans start. It’s then that I wonder if Ryan’s ever done anything with another guy. I don’t want to ask either, mostly in fear of it ruining the mood. 

I just go with the assumption that he has and then start to undo his jeans. Ryan instantly picks up his hips to help me shrug them off and his eagerness almost takes me by surprise. I take my time nonetheless, dragging his jeans down only a little, enough to where the bulge in Ryan’s boxers is noticeable. I cup his length over the material and drag my hands down. I watch as Ryan’s eyes flicker closed and his lips part. 

He falters a little when I do start pulling his jeans down all the way, alongside his boxers, leaving him completely naked in front of me. I look down to his hard cock, pre-come gleaming on the head, and then back up to his eyes. Ryan seems a little embarrassed, giving me a small smirk before it slips away when my hand comes into the scene. I end up licking my palm awkwardly, hoping that it’s maybe just a little endearing instead of creepy. 

Either way, Ryan lets out a quiet “fuck” when I start to jerk him off. He bucks his hips up, tries to get closer to me, one of his hands that he has on my back turning into a claw, his blunt nails jabbing into my shoulder. I let out breathy laugh, dipping down to suck at his nipple. This only makes him let out a distressed moan, my name slipping out of his mouth more than once. 

“I’m close, Bren,” he chokes out, eyes still tightly closed. 

I’m not sure if he was expecting more today, but I make the decision to leave it here. This is good for now. 

I quicken my pace until Ryan is actually coming, his mouth opening just a little further and a long sigh of breath coming out. I try not to smile, not to think of this as some kind of silly emotional moment, his come officially starting to dry on my hand. When he finally opens his eyes, fixing them on me right away, he leans forward to kiss me and his fingers find their way to my own jeans. 

I’m not entirely sure how much longer I have left in the house, but I count this as a decent way to be spending my time. 

***

No one talks to me for a couple days and they really only give me kind smiles when I pass them in the hallway. I decide to take the opportunity to hide away in the music rom. I practice guitar, even find myself in the computer room printing out endless pages of tabs to learn. Not even Pete yells at me for Rachelle. Ryan doesn’t say a word either, even if I want to spend my remaining time in the house with him.

Jon is the first to find me in the music room on the second day of silence. He smiles at me, one of the smiles I’ve been seeing too much, but instead of leaving, he sits down on the bench of the piano and faces my way. “What’s up,” he says. 

“So, you’re not going to ignore me?” I ask instead of answering him. 

Jon seems to bristle when he hears this, looking down and clearing his throat. “We’re not ignoring you, Bren,” he explains. “You just look kind of…defeated after you told everyone. We were worried.”

I look down to the guitar in my grip and smile bitterly. “Yeah, so instead of trying to calm me down, just ignore me. Makes sense, really.”

“I’m sorry, man,” he tells me in a quiet voice. 

I mostly ignore his apology. It doesn’t actually mean that much to me. I start playing a riff on the guitar, my fingers not needing my help to find their places. When Jon doesn’t fill the silence, I abruptly stop and say, “You know, I didn’t even want to come out. I wasn’t going to.” 

“Why did you then?” 

“She asked me if I was gay and I could’ve said no, I guess,” I mutter. “I just ended up saying I was.”

“It’s kind of shit for them to make fun of stuff like that.”

I think back to when Jon made a few jokes, said some things were “gay” but I was never bothered by those things. I know now, though, that he’ll keep his mouth in check, will make a point to. “I don’t really care,” I admit. I should try to be some kind of inspiration to little gay kids or something, but I can’t stand the thought of someone actually looking up to me. 

“I don’t care,” Jon blurts out, blushes a little at his own brashness. “I meant, like, I don’t care about you being gay.” 

“Thanks.”

***

When I come to Ryan’s room, like we always do right before a competition, I’m surprised to find that Spencer is the one to answer the door. As I walk in, giving Spencer a small smile before sitting down at Ryan’s desk, deciding that Spencer was probably sitting next to Ryan before I came in. They don’t continue what they were talking about before I knocked and Spencer gives Ryan a stern look, like he doesn’t want him to say the wrong thing. 

“So, what’s up?” I finally ask, hoping that they don’t say what is actually going on. 

Ryan scratches the back of his neck and looks in Spencer’s direction as he says, “Spencer doesn’t want you to spend so much time in here.” 

“Fuck you, Ryan,” Spencer spits right away. It doesn’t sound like he’s angry, more frustrated with Ryan. Spencer turns to me. “I didn’t say it like that. I just think that you don’t want the producers getting mad at you, right?” 

“I thought they were cool with me being in here occasionally?” I more or less lie, smiling nervously in Spencer’s direction. 

Spencer looks over to Ryan, narrows his eyes and glares, and then goes back to me. “Occasionally? Brendon, people back in the house are starting to wonder where you hide. I don’t really want to give the producers a reason to send you home.” 

I have to keep myself from saying something about how I’ve already given them a reason. 

“I thought the judges are the ones that send me home?” 

Spencer heaves a sigh and it’s me that he glares at now. He obviously knows I understand how these shows work. I just don’t want to admit it. I want to be a viewer again, only having to watch and not worry how it actually worked. 

“I’ll just leave then,” I mutter. 

“No,” Ryan says, jumping up and pushing Spencer towards the door. “Spencer is leaving. You’re staying.” 

Spencer rolls his eyes and leaves, but only after exchanging a look with Ryan. I briefly wonder how much Spencer knows about Ryan and me. Once the door is closed, though, I lose the thought. Ryan walks over to, licking his lips and giving me a suggestive look. 

“I’ve got a surprise for you,” he tells me, wrapping an arm around my waist.

I smirk as our faces get closer and closer. “We don’t really have the time to…” I start, but then Ryan starts laughing. 

“No, yeah, I know. It’s actually about the competition this week. I know you’ve been kind of having a shitty week, but this week is going to be a break for you, okay?” 

“What is the competition?” 

“I can’t tell you,” he says. “But, don’t worry, it isn’t too hard, or at least it shouldn’t be for you.”

True to his word, the competition doesn’t seem that bad to me. Collin explains to us that we’re going to be dealing with fans, a better contrast to when we had to deal with hecklers. He tells us that we’re all going to be put in different places around L.A. in groups of three, playing small acoustic shows. He doesn’t tell us much else, making us wonder what exactly he means about the fans. 

We leave immediately, all of getting into the limo that is parked right outside the main door. I notice that there is a lot more room now, nearly half of the original number left. I even manage to snag a spot next to Ryan. He talks to Spencer but still lets me know he knows I’m there by lightly touching my thigh or pushing closer to me as an excuse to put his feet on the seat. 

They divide us up last minute, double checking on who can play what. I’m half expecting them to keep me until last alongside Rachelle, both of us waiting to find out what is left over. As it turns out, they call me first, wanting me to be the lead singer. It takes me by surprise, but I guess it really shouldn’t. 

When I first got into the competition, I didn’t have much confidence in my voice, deciding that I had other talents to make up for it. Now, though, after having several people compliment me, I’ve finally accepted that maybe I can sing. No one has ever outright told me I was a good singer until being on this show, though. 

I follow my team, one extra person being added to our group because of the uneven number of us. I’m the lead singer, Patrick is playing guitar, Pete is playing an acoustic bass, and Victoria, rounding out the group, is playing bongos. They send us into a local mall, and I vaguely remember coming here before, but realizing that I wouldn’t be able to afford anything. 

We are allotted an hour to figure out a song and rehearse it before going out in the filled food court to perform. A producer leads us into a staff room and gives us our instruments and a few laptops to look up chords and tabs. A group of camera men are also hanging back with us, filming our reaction to the mission at hand. 

I instantly get fidgety, wondering if we really could pull ourselves together to do this in an hour, especially with Pete and me working together. The fact that our team has two judges should definitely give us an advantage. On the other hand, we have four people, even harder to wrangle together.

“We need something classic,” Patrick says instantly. “Most of the people in there are in their late thirties or forties, right? Like, we need eighties songs.” 

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s a good idea, Trick,” Pete nods, flashing Patrick a big smile. 

Victoria and I instantly exchange confused glances. Trick? Since when did Patrick and Pete become good friends? I try to shake it off. “Okay, well, what song then?” I ask, opening one of the laptops and finding a guitar chord website. 

“You’ve got good range, Brendon, so we have a lot to work with,” Victoria hums. 

The room grows silent as everyone think. 

Patrick suddenly snaps his finger. “Nothing says a classic like ‘Don’t Stop Believin’.’” 

Everyone in the room smiles and we all agree to it, Victoria and Pete both opening up the laptops. We spend the next half hour individually working. Victoria seems bored, listening to the song a few times and playing the bongos to different patterns. Patrick is plucking out something one minute and then strumming loudly the next, filling the room with acoustic guitar. Pete doesn’t look too worried about the task, absently learning his part and snickering about something with Patrick. 

I spend the half hour learning the lyrics, humming through the song a few times. I don’t full out belt it just yet, not wanting to disrupt everyone else. I just sing it enough so I vaguely know how everything goes. When we all finally decide that we can work together, my hands are sweaty and I have to force them into my hands to keep them from shaking so visibly. I don’t usually get nervous, but this seems crucial. I’ve got some image now, people have expectations of me. 

“I’ll cue us in, you know, four beats, then guitar and bass, and then Brendon,” Victoria instructs, obviously having thought this through. 

We all nod and she cues us to start. I close my eyes waiting for my entrance, not completely sure when it is but just deciding to wing it for now. Once I’ve started, my voice is quiet, unsure of everything. I know the words, I just took the time to learn them, but I seem to forget them and I feel like throwing up when the song slowly falls apart with Pete saying, “Hold up, you guys, hold on.” 

“Sorry, sorry, I was just…nervous,” I admit slowly. I realize that this really shouldn’t be what I’m nervous about, and the actual performance should be. 

Pete sighs, turns to me and starts saying, “Dude, just fucking sing it, okay? Go get the laptop and learn the lyrics if you need to. You can’t fuck up—“

“I know the words, okay?” I almost shout as I interrupt Pete. “Like I said, I was just nervous. Let me try again.”

Victoria cues us again, and when I sing this time, I do it louder and try to keep my voice stronger. I tap the beat on my thigh, only thinking of what’s next in the song. My voice cracks a little and the rest of it comes out in nearly a whisper because I’m so caught up on the fact I’m evidently still going through puberty or something. 

We manage to finish the song, but Pete doesn’t let this affect his critic this time. “Brendon, stop being a pussy and just sing the fucking song, Jesus Christ.”

“Fuck off, Pete,” I snarl, not in the mood to listen to him. Ryan told me this would be easy. He said that this week would be a break. I feel like I’m disappointing him. 

“No, man, I won’t. Not until this song is perfect,” Pete says right back, standing up and getting in my face. I’m not really in the mood to pick a fight with Pete, but he seems to want to. “It’s not just your ass on the line, here. It’s mine. So, work through your confidence issues and come back ready for this.” 

“I’m not having confidence issues,” I scoff. “If it wasn’t obvious enough, I’m not really having the best week, so fuck off and let’s do it again.” 

“You’re not having a good week?” Pete laughs cynically. “Well, guess what, it doesn’t matter. Get over it. You’re gay, so what? Everyone already knew anyways.” 

I try to think of something to come back with, but I can’t. All I really want to do is just punch him, or at least the wall, or something. I know either aren’t really great ideas, so I just shake my head in disgust and exit the staff room. Outside, there are a few loitering workers who are eating in what appears to be a lunch room. I sit down at one of the empty tables and try to cool down, putting my head down on the table. I can already feel the presence of the camera men. Jesus Christ. 

I know I’m going home already. I’ve already established this. I can’t even sing a fucking song and I’m gay. They wouldn’t really let a gay kid win, no matter how talented or charming they appear to be. I’m only making a further mess of my image but I can’t be bothered to care. I want Ryan here to calm me down, or even fucking Shane, or someone that knows me well enough to not be such a fucking prick like Pete Wentz. 

Even though, he’s definitely not Ryan or Shane, Patrick does finally come out of the room and sits down across from me. He sighs and then says, “We only have five minutes left.” 

“Pete shouldn’t be worried about going home,” I snort, not having the energy to leap up and go rehearse. I just can’t do it. “The producers probably love him. He causes all of this unnecessary drama. He’s here for entertainment value. If anyone should be worried, it’s me.” 

Patrick looks at me with a confused look. 

“I’m sorry, but I know what’s coming this week, whether I go and fuck up or if I blow everyone away,” I tell Patrick sagely. 

“Brendon, look, I’ve heard you sing. I know you can sing well. I know you can sing this song. Just go out there and sing it your best even if it you think it’s your last week.” 

This seems to be the confirmation to me. Even Patrick must know that I’m going to have to go this week too. I finally get up and when we get back to the staff room, we’re being called to go out and play. Pete is giving me a glare and I nearly stumble on my own feet as we walk out to the busy food court. 

They have microphones and stools placed out and I take the middle one and prepare myself to sing. I mentally think of the lyrics, hum a little before the microphones are turned on. I realize that there are a bunch of people now watching us with hawk eyes. I breathe in and out until I realize that Victoria has cued us. 

The performance is like the rest of my performances, probably nothing magical, but I don’t think I did badly. I think that might have been because I had just the right amount of encouragement to not fuck up so that Pete wouldn’t have anything to complain about. By the end of the song, people have started clapping to the beat and it has me laughing into the microphone, the sound reverbing through the food court. It’s a very surreal moment where I realize how truly lucky I am to be here and it suddenly hurts more than anything to know I’m going home. 

The applause is loud once we finish. It takes me by surprise and keeps me smiling despite my pessimistic attitude. We start to walk off when a group of people ambush us, talking excitedly over everyone else about how great we are and how they are our biggest fans. I suddenly realize that this is the part of the competition about the fans. 

We spend time to talk to everyone and some of them ask for pictures and I can’t help but to revel in their adoration. The smile on is my face isn’t forced and talking to the people, whether actors or genuine fans, makes me so happy that I nearly forget about my ominous fate. 

***

Even if I want to spend all of my time with Ryan before our big elimination on Friday, I keep myself from it. I distance myself and try to break off whatever we had going. We both know there would be no way that we’d be able to keep it going once I leave. When Friday rolls around the corner and all I really want to do is tell Ryan goodbye, I keep myself from it and hide away in the gym, running on the treadmill until my legs feel numb and I can taste blood in my mouth. 

I take a shower before the elimination and when we get called downstairs, my hair is still drying and legs still aching from the workout. When we’re in straight lines, Collin repeating the same monologue he does every week about the prizes, I zone out. I look over to Ryan, let my eyes wander over his skinny form. He notices, though, looks relieved that I’m finally giving him attention. I wonder if he’ll miss me. He’ll probably will. I wonder if I’ll break his heart by leaving. 

The group starts getting called up, Hayley collecting the rings this week. I watch with sad eyes as everyone walks up before me and when it’s just Crystal and me, I wonder how Crystal managed to be in the bottom two again. I keep my eyes on the ground, even if they want to roam the group of people. 

We didn’t get to know how all the other groups did with their performances. I only got chunks of gossip about things. I know that Crystal was a lead singer, but she must have not impressed anyone. I would assume that Pete has already told everyone about our fight and told some rumors about me. 

I finally look up to Hayley and she’s letting the tension roll on, making people worry about which one of us is really going home. I nearly jump when she ends up saying my name. Crystal seems to crumple to my right, already crying. Her whole body is shaking. I’m still so surprised that I end up looking like a douchebag and forgoing the comforting of her. Besides, she probably already hates me for taking her spot in the house. 

I go put back my ring and when I face the people who are still in the competition, Ryan seems to leap out, pushing me into a hug in front of everyone. I cling to him, my mind still hazy. I don’t understand why I’m still here. Patrick basically told me I was going home. I try not to dwell on it, instead, hug Ryan until I finally push away, deciding that our hug is maybe a little too long to be casual. I hug everyone else, partly because I’m too happy to reject them, and partly so my hug with Ryan doesn’t seem so suspicious.


	10. WEEK 9

WEEK 9

 

Pete looks triumph sitting atop the counter, a bag of miniature marshmallows in his grip. Rachelle, Jon, and I are standing across from, patiently waiting for him to say something. He keeps eating and ignoring us, even if he was the one to call the meeting, saying it was very important. 

Rachelle and I haven’t even talked since I came out. This is the first time we’ve even participated in the same conversation, that is, if Pete starts talking soon. It’s not as much that I don’t want to talk to Rachelle; when we talked it was usually fairly relaxing. Now, though, I know she’ll be jaded and will probably take everything I say out of context. 

Even if it’s a little dramatic, I’ve been expecting Pete to go after me. If it wasn’t bad enough that I made a laughing stock out of Rachelle, now I’ve endangered Pete’s chances at winning, even if our performance miraculously pulled together without practicing. Still, the feeling that I was being watched was consistent and I now I can only wonder if Pete is slowly working on a bullet proof plan to get me eliminated. 

Since I didn’t get eliminated last week, I know I have to try even harder than I was before. I have to somehow show everyone that even if I mess up sometimes, that I’m a gold performer who is actually the only obvious choice for the winner. It’s just, I can’t decide if me proclaiming that I want to be the first gay winner, and make a big deal out of my sexuality is the route to go. I could simply ignore it, try to get people to forget about my outburst but I have a feeling they won’t. 

“Pete,” Jon finally starts, sighing loudly. “Are you going to—“

“I’m bearing good news, kiddies,” Pete interrupts Jon. I hear him sigh again as Pete says, “I’ve been getting close to Patrick and I asked him if he’d join the alliance.”

“And?” Rachelle says after a long silence ensues. 

“And, he said yes. Which means we have even more power in this house,” Pete smiles. “Which also leads us to figuring out who exactly we want to target this week.” 

I sigh in relief. Pete obviously isn’t too preoccupied on my elimination if he’s working on someone else. 

“How about Marina?” Rachelle offers easily.

“Why?” Pete asks.

“She stole my shirt a few days ago,” Rachelle says. “Kind of a bitch, anyways,” 

Pete gives her a long look and then sighs. “Sure,” he says dejectedly. “When we do our competition just everyone try to target her or something.” 

I watch as he makes a vague motion with his hand and then leaves us alone. Jon is the next to leave, obviously not too worried about leaving me alone in the pantry with Rachelle. I nervously glance her way. She’s leaning against the counter, looking down to the ground. She must sense my eyes, though, because she looks up to me. 

“You know,” she starts. “You could have just told me sooner.” 

I really wasn’t prepared for a heart to heart with Rachelle today, but it’s obvious she has calmed down and thought things through for the past few days. “It’s not that easy,” I tell her. “I didn’t want to come out on the national TV at all. It just kind of happened. And maybe I knew just a little you were into me, but I figured it wouldn’t go anywhere anyway because we were concentrated on the competition.” 

I lie a little because it’s not like I’m going to tell her that I was actually planning on breaking her heart. 

Rachelle looks hurt by this. She smiles bitterly to the ground. “I guess I was just stupid, you know, to pursuit you. I wasn’t concentrated on the game.” 

I can definitely hear the sarcasm in that. 

“Look, it wasn’t like me being gay was that obvious. So, you going after me isn’t really surprising. Just get over it and worry about—“

“Don’t tell me to get over it,” she snaps, her easy and forgiving tone all gone. “I’m a joke now, Brendon. It’s your fault.” 

I try not to cringe at how melodramatic she sounds. “You’re really going to pin this one on me? You’re exaggerating this. It might have partly been my fault, but I have my reasons and you have none.” 

Rachelle looks burned as she closes her eyes, shakes her in disgust and then heads towards the door. “You know, Brendon, you’re kind of a douchebag and it won’t be long before the judges figure that out.” 

***

When the day of the competition rolls around the corner, nobody is waiting around in the living room. We’re all doing something, making food or practicing an instrument, or something that doesn’t involved all of us in the living rom. There is a part of me that misses it, that those moments where we were almost like a big family actually mean something to me. I know I can’t see them as a family because they’re all just as blood-thirsty as Pete. 

We get called downstairs and everyone has to stop what they’re doing to go figure out what it is that we’re doing for the competition this week. There’s no elaborate set-up downstairs so I can only assume we’re leaving somewhere. I get excited because it’s relaxing that we’ll get to leave the house again and have some fresh air. 

“One of the most important things in the music industry is networking,” Collin begins. “Who you know in the business is very important. Being able to talk to people about your band and your image as a musician could mean everything. In this challenge, you’ll be sent to a party and your job is to impress the people there. There’s a twist, though, you’ll be in pairs, the judges thrown into the mix, and you’ll both have to sell yourselves individually to these people.” 

I instantly start to worry about who I’ll be paired with. I think I could work with mostly everyone here, even Rachelle would put aside our differences for a competition, but something about Pete lately tells me he wouldn’t do the same. Collin starts calling off pairs and I take a breath of relief when Pete is paired up with Jon. I definitely don’t see it coming when Collin says that Ryan and I will be partner. 

We get a half an hour to get ready before we leave to the party, and people are going to take advantage of every minute. The girls race upstairs and the guys walk a little more calmly, even if they maybe want to rush too. I just change my outfit and fix my hair some, hoping it looks professional and not like I just rolled out of bed. 

The party is in full swing when we arrive. I’m tugging on the sleeves of my blazer, fighting the urge to grab for Ryan. He’s walking next to me, his shoulders touching me slightly, even if he’s pretending like that’s not the case. There are crowds of people with wine glasses in their dainty grips and big smiles on. I try not to sigh and realize how bad I am at this stuff.

“Okay,” Ryan mutters, turning to me, fixing my tie in front of everyone. I smile, hoping he won’t see it. “I’m gonna be honest with you, Bren, I suck at this. You’re going to have to do the talking.”

I scoff. “I’m not good at this either.”

“Yeah, but you’re charming. I’m awkward. Just kiss ass, alright?”

I roll my eyes and when a camera is pointed at us, obviously waiting for us to make our big appearance in the party, I push Ryan in the direction of a wealthy-looking couple. I smile as big as I can, shaking hands with the man and nod at the woman who looks uncomfortable. I tone down my smile. 

“Ryan Ross,” the man says, like the name has already been said too many times on his tongue. He turns to me. “And…” 

“Brendon Urie,” I say dejectedly. I realize that this will probably end up being the entire night. Ryan is famous and I’m just some guy from a reality TV show. 

“Oh, okay, well, welcome to the party,” the man says. 

Ryan and I stay a bit longer, talking in what I hope is friendly but not too personal. There are too many awkward silences and even I know this. I just feel like Ryan should be the one talking, he’s the one that everyone really cares about. When we make our way through the crowd, it becomes even more apparent how much I don’t really matter. Though, when cameras come around, I always make it look like I’m having a grand time. 

Ryan grabs a drink and I decide that this is our break. After he takes a sip, I check around the room for cameras in our direction and then I swiftly grab it from his hand and take a large gulp. Before Ryan has a chance to reprimand me for underage drinking, even if he’s not legal yet, I start coughing. 

“Jesus, what is that?” I ask, clearing my throat and handing back the glass. 

“I dunno, I took it from a tray,” Ryan says. I watch as he takes a sip, obviously not picky about the taste. “Why are you being so quiet today?”

I look down awkwardly. “I’m not being quiet.” 

“Yeah, you are,” he says. “You know the rest of the judges are gonna be asking me how you acted. Just try harder so I won’t have to lie.” 

I narrow my eyes in his direction. He’s saying all of this like it’s obvious, a fact. I guess it might be, but I just wasn’t talking as much because I know that all the people in here are more interested in Ryan. When I talk they just don’t care. I like the way they all look at Ryan, with such rasp attention; I want people to look at me like that one day. Now, though, I know I need to realize that I’m not there yet. 

“I’m trying, okay?” I say harshly. 

Ryan doesn’t seem to pick up on my evident bitterness and puts his drink on a table and beckons for me to go back to talk to more people. I make conversation but not much else. All the business people ask Ryan about what his band is doing next or give him praise on something he’s already done. I can tell that Ryan is trying to veer the conversation back to me, but it really isn’t working. 

We spend the remainder of the night talking to people. I end up being grouchy because of Ryan, feeling bummed that I’m letting it get to me so much. I know I’m coming off as unfriendly and moody, but it’s not like any of these people care. 

At the end of the night, we get hauled back to the limo. The judges and Collin go in a separate one, presumably to talk about the competition. Either way, most of us are tired, even try to sleep on the car ride home, but I can’t stop thinking about the night. It feels like I was just pushed down in kicked a few times. I figure it’s okay to be jealous of Ryan to some extent, he has my dream job and everything, but the feelings seemed to intensify throughout the night. 

I’ve been spending so much time in the house, nearly forgetting that all these people are celebrities in well-known bands, and here I am, just a nobody from Northern California. The lines started to blur, and I almost felt like I was one of them for a while. I became so close to Ryan, his fame didn’t seem like a thing anymore. At that party, though, I saw how everyone treated him like he was special. 

When we get to the house, they make us go downstairs to see who the winner and loser is. Everyone is drowsy, nearly stumbling down the steps. Once we’re lined up properly, the judges across from the room and Collin looking chipper beside them, he starts to talk. 

“From what I’ve heard and seen, you all did really well tonight,” Collin starts. I instantly wonder about what Ryan told them. “There were some mistakes and a few shining stars, but the winner is…Jon!” 

Everyone claps and smiles, even if we’re all jealous. Jon looks triumph. Collin continues talking, “Your prize is that you’ll be spending the night at luxurious hotel. You can bring along one friend.” 

I try not to seem too anxious to go with Jon, like it isn’t obvious he’s going to pick me. I don’t see him spending too much time with many other people. When Jon picks William, there is a little part of me that feels even more kicked today. Of course he didn’t pick me. I shove my hands in my pocket and hope I don’t look disappointed. 

“There is also a losing pair today,” Collin says. Maybe it’s then that I realize I’ve probably lost and things get a million times worse, especially knowing that they are calling us in pairs. “The losers will have to spend the night in a cramped tour bus. The losers are…Ryan and Brendon.” 

I cringe, nearly in tears, because fuck Ryan for being such a fucking celebrity and no one caring about me. I blindly stumble forward, shoulders slumped in defeat. Ryan doesn’t seem as disappointed and walks out to the tour bus with me after we’ve packed a small bag of things we’ll need for the night. 

The cameras film our reaction of the tour bus. It is cramped, the doorway so short that I have to duck down to get through. It has a front room, decently sized with a slew of bunks packed away behind it. There is a back lounge, too, a fancy TV hanging on the wall. 

“You can’t use the TV,” one of the producers says. “The fridge has food and water. There are a few blankets in one of the bunks. Have a good night.” 

The camera men leave, the door shutting with finality. It’s silent for a few moments and then Ryan burst out in giggles. I’m almost so angry that I want to shove him or something, but then when I turn to him, catch a glance of his smile, I can’t be bothered too. 

“This is my bus,” he says through chuckles. “They literally put us on our bus. Like, what the fuck? They told me the loser would be in a tour bus, but they didn’t mention it would be my own.”

“You knew?” I ask. 

“Um,” Ryan says, looking down, like he’s ashamed of something. “Kind of.” 

“Fuck, did you do this on purpose, Ryan? Did you want us to lose?” 

Ryan smiles and looks back up. “Look, I knew the place wouldn’t have cameras,” he defends, not even needing to answer my question. 

“You realize this could make me go home, right?” 

“I’ll make sure you don’t, okay?” he says. “Brendon, do you not realize I’ve given us a full night to do whatever we want without people wondering where you are or if the cameras are? I won’t let them send you home.” 

I feel a little stupid, thinking that maybe this is the most romantic thing Ryan can do while were in the house. Jeopardizing my standings still leaves me uneasy, despite the kind thought on Ryan’s part. “Well,” I say dejectedly. “We’re here now. Might as well take advantage of it”

Ryan seems happy about this, and pulls me over so he can kiss me. My bad mood seems to dissolve away, Ryan’s fingers soothing me into a haze of lust. He pushes me towards the couch as he nips on my bottom lip, his fingers now pulling off my shirt, our kiss ending. 

“You’re not mad at me, right?” Ryan asks, our foreheads leaning against each other and our breath mixing together. 

I swallow and whisper, “No,” and then lean back in to kiss him. 

He must take this as permission and then we stumble onto the couch and Ryan is yanking his shirt off. My leg is awkwardly squeezed in between Ryan’s, and when it shift it just a little, Ryan lets out a breathy noise and it’s then that I realize that he’s hard already. 

We just make out for a while, our bare chests sliding against each other, but it’s obvious that Ryan is getting antsy, and probably wants to do more. When my fingers start to unbutton his jeans, I start to kiss his neck, distractedly sucking as I fumble with the zipper. I can feel Ryan tense up, though, when I haven’t even gotten his jeans all the way off.

“Ryan,” I start slowly, unsure of what it was I did wrong. 

“I’ve never done this before,” Ryan blurts out suddenly. “Sorry, I just assumed, um, you know, we were gonna fuck and I’ve never…before.” 

“Have you ever done anything with a guy before?” I ask, because I had definitely ignored that question last time we messed around. 

Ryan licks his lips, tries to avoid eye contact, but he can’t because we’re too close, my eyes are too demanding. “No. I haven’t, not until you.” 

I try not to look too surprised, but, Jesus, no one ever? I always figured that he had one night stands with guys or something, and did everything very coyly so people wouldn’t ever find out he was gay. He’s either too nervous for one night stands or he just doesn’t want to get caught. I figure it might even be both of those. I decide not to ask about it.

“You can fuck me,” I say. He must know that I’ve been with other guys. “If you want to, I just, I don’t have a condom.” 

Ryan seems distressed about this for a minute, but then his face lights up. “Get off me real quick. I think we have some in the bathroom, unless they’ve decided to clean it out.” 

I move off of Ryan, watching as he struggles out of his jeans before leaving towards the bathroom still wearing his boxers, his boner clearly outlined. I start tugging my jeans, deciding to just get naked because it’s not like I’m uncomfortable with my nakedness anymore. I can see why Ryan would be, and there was a time when I was, when I could barely even think of taking my shirt off around someone. 

“Aha,” Ryan nearly shouts, coming back with a foil packet in his grip and bottle of what looks like lotion. Even if he’s smiling and looking accomplished on his find, there’s still a little part of his face that looks nervous, especially when he sees that I’m naked. He’s seen me like this before, so it really isn’t anything new. 

“Come on,” I beckon, crooking a finger in his direction.

He smiles at my cheesy gesture and then walks over to me, putting the stuff aside and getting back on top of me. It takes him a few awkward moments, but he does finally pull of his boxers and my hand instantly finds its way to his cock, stroking lazily. I can feel Ryan’s hot breath on my neck, hear the way it hitches when I touch him. 

Ryan seems out of it for a few moments, closing his eyes and letting out low noises, but then he snaps back and one of his hands is reaching towards the lotion on the ground and pouring some onto his hand. There’s a pause after that, though, like he’s just now realized what he’s doing. I hear him take a long breath and then he prods at my hole for a few seconds before slowly putting in his fingers, being obvious careful. 

“You know a lot about gay sex for a virgin,” I joke, trying to break the awkward tension. 

Ryan lets out a breathy laugh. “I’m sure you weren’t watching loads of porn before you had sex, Brendon,” he says, his finger slowly pushing in and out. 

“Add another,” I tell him, realizing that my hand has stopped moving on Ryan’s length. 

I can hear Ryan swallow and then he follows my instruction. It’s not too bad, just a little off because I haven’t done this in a while. Ryan doesn’t seem as nervous now, pushing in less delicately and adding another finger that makes me gasp because there’s no warning like I was expecting. I try not to speculate on the fact that his fingers are so long, that the difference to his and any other boy I’ve ever been with is different, but it is, and he leaves me letting out moans that I don’t usually let out. 

“Can I…” Ryan trails on, knowing how he wants to end his sentence but probably not wanting to.

I nod and close my eyes, taking my hand off of Ryan’s dick before placing it on my own, pumping up and down, just now realizing how neglected it is. I can hear Ryan opening up the condom wrapper and I figure that this really isn’t the most romantic first time ever, but something about Ryan tells me that he doesn’t really care about that stuff anyways. 

I can feel Ryan’s cock lined up at my hole, and I evidently don’t need to urge him on because he’s already pushing in incredibly slow, obviously worried about my well-being. I’m not completely sure how to tell him I don’t mind it rough, that Shane liked it like that so in default I kind of grew into it. I figure that it probably won’t sound too great if I tell him that. So, I keep my mouth shut and let him push in and kiss my neck lightly. 

His breathing is labored when he’s pushed in all the way and I almost laugh about it, but I’m still in pain, even if Ryan stretched me decently before. He continues on with his agonizingly slow pace and when my blunt nails tighten on his hips, he seems confused. 

“It’s okay, Ryan. I won’t break, just…” I say, gasping a little once it’s out of mouth. 

He must take this to heart because he works up a nice pace, pushing forward and kissing me suddenly. The kisses become sloppy, though, his mouth hanging open as he fucks me. He pushes in just right, to where I let out an embarrassing noise, my hips instantly bucking up to meet his thrust. 

“Fuck,” I mutter. “Ryan, harder.” 

I moan a little louder as he follows my orders. The hand on my cock quickens, and there’s a part of me that wants to hang on and try to look like I have some stamina, and then there’s the other part of me that doesn’t really care because Ryan’s probably doing the same thing anyways and—

My eyes flicker closed and I revel in the pleasure as I come into my palm, letting out a low noise that Ryan must appreciate because his pace quickens and his thrusts become more erratic. He lets out a few curses and then says my name as he presumably comes, his body coming to halt of all motions. 

We lie in silence for a few moments, our heavy breathing the only thing to hear, and then Ryan kisses me and puts his head down on my chest. 

“Well, fuck, I’ve been missing out on that for way too long,” he says finally. 

We both start laughing on cue. 

***

Right before elimination, a few people ask me how my night was in the tour bus. It’s not that I’m paranoid or anything, it’s just that it feels like everyone knows what Ryan and I did. Everyone might know I’m gay, but they all think that Ryan isn’t. When people ask about it, though, I just say that I fell asleep right when we got there so it wasn’t that bad. No one questions it. 

We get called for elimination when I’m having a conversation with Spencer, who has found out that it was their tour bus they used. 

“Our managers fault probably,” Spencer scoffs as we walk downstairs. Ryan is beside him, snickering away into his hand. 

I should feel comfortable with my standings in the competition, but I don’t. Even with the help of Ryan and Spencer’s word, I did lose the competition, not to mention, last week I was in the bottom two. Ryan guaranteed I would be safe, he said he wouldn’t let me go home. Looking at him now, he seems calm so I can only assume he did his job.

“It is the ninth week in the competition,” Collins says to us. “By the end of tonight, there will only be six of you remaining.”

Jesus, we’re almost at the top five. Suddenly, the thought of going home this week seems terrifying. 

“Tonight, Ryan is taking your rings so prepare yourselves.” 

The cameras get clicked off momentarily for the rings to be passed out. When I receive mine, it feels heavy in my hand, like each week it somehow becomes a few pounds heavier with the hope of winning. It still looks the same as it does every week, the gold glimmering in the lights of the set. 

Ryan starts to call off names and I’m definitely not surprised to not hear my name get called at first. I watch as William and Jon and Pete all go up, my heart feeling heavy. I feel helpless as I decide to just look at my ring instead of Ryan. I know he wouldn’t let me go home. This could be his farewell, though. Maybe he just wanted to fuck me and then he could send me home and that—

“Brendon,” 

I instantly look up when I hear my name. Ryan’s giving me a look that reminds me of when he wants to smile but he can’t. I move forward and give him my ring, joining the group of survivors. They all seem surprised to see me. I figure that the judges must have some crazy reason for keeping me. Ryan must really know how to persuade. 

The bottom two end up being Heather and Marina. They both hold hands and wait for Ryan to call them up, looking nervous. I hold my breath, not because I’m too anxious to see who will make it, but more because it seems like the right thing to do. 

After Ryan waits long enough, keeps us all on our toes, he calls Marina up. They both hug, Heather instantly going into hysterics. Marina puts away her ring and joins us. I’m one of the first people to hug her, understanding too well what it feels like to be in the bottom two, to know you’re that close to going home. 

I only have to survive another five weeks. That’s it. Then, I can go home but not because I lost.


	11. WEEK 10

WEEK 10

 

I know I’ve been ignoring it. Calling Shane, that is. Letting our relationship go to shambles while I’m trying to win a reality TV show definitely wasn’t something I wanted. Maybe the reason before, the reason I didn’t want to call Shane or ever see him again, was that I was just angry and too frustrated with everything that was going. Things are better now, though, or at least they feel that way. 

I know that the competition should be getting harder, that I should be buckling down and preparing myself for a rigorous next couple weeks, but I’ve been mellowed down. I figure that’s Ryan’s fault. He’s let me think that I’m safe from now on. I know I can’t rely on Ryan every single week, but I’d have to mess up pretty badly to get Ryan to let me be eliminated. 

Talking to Shane, though, that was a completely different thing now. Then, when I was just starting the competition, when I didn’t know Ryan at all and I would never have guessed he was gay, Shane was all I had. Sure I had my whole family rooting for me, but they had done that my whole life. Shane was different. He was someone I wanted to make more proud than my parents. It’s different now. All I really want to make proud is Ryan, who seems to think I have good chances at winning, whether or not he wants in my pants. 

There’s no line for the phone when I decide to make my call. I take a seat on the couch and think about what I want to say before dialing his number. I know it will probably all come out wrong, but I figure I should have some sort of plan, or at least an idea of what I’m trying to do. 

I’ve already established that I could just tell Shane that I already came out so we don’t have to talk in code, but I don’t necessarily want the viewers to know that I broke up with my boyfriend during the game. Also, it will only make my mess with Rachelle look even worse. So, I decide to not tell him, to let him stumble on his words.

“Hey.” 

Shane answers the phone with a raspy voice, like maybe he’s surprised I’m calling or maybe that he’s surprised I’m still in the house. 

“Hey, Shane,” I say after a solid ten seconds, just enough time for him to contemplate on whether I’m really there. I’m here, though. I’ve been here. “What’s up?”

“Not much, not really anything here,” he tells me. He sounds like he’s smiling. I’ve heard this voice before. “You, though, what’s going on? How many of you are left?” 

“Six.” 

“Fuck, man.” 

I breathe in, try not to find some loophole out of this conversation. There is a long silence, and I decide to just jump into it with, “You’re happy, right? Like, I know I’m not there to, you know, check over everything, but you’re good?” 

“Um,” Shane mutters, awkwardly chuckling and then clearing his throat. “Am I good? I-I guess. I mean, I’m seeing someone new and you probably wouldn’t want to meet her.” 

The pronoun change stumps me for a moment, but I know what he’s talking about. Of course I do. “When I get out of here, I think I’m going to find someone new, too.” 

There’s silence and then Shane’s coughing, not traumatic, sick coughs, just trying to fill the silence coughs. “Yeah, go ahead. I’m sure you’ll win, right? Like, you’ll probably have girls hanging off you by the end of the show.” 

I smile. “Uh,” 

We both start laughing and I can finally properly breathe again. We laugh for too long, probably more than is acceptable, but it just kind of happens and I don’t want it to stop. It’s comforting, like I’m back to watching TV with him, our bodies pushed up against each other and the neighbors are fighting, and his TV is fuzzing out, but we don’t really care and we laugh at the stupid things. It’s comforting but it’s still not want I really want anymore. I know what I want, I know that the boy I really want is stowed away in the backyard with a notebook open in front of him. 

“I think you could really win, Brendon,” Shane finally says. “And if you don’t, then I think they’ve got it all wrong and it’s not your fault.” 

I smile and take this as his apology. 

***

Jon and I sit by the pool, a plate of crackers in front of us, but no one really has been eating. Ryan is across the yard, writing in a notebook, and I keep looking over to him. A group of people have congregated in the kitchen, evidently making dinner for everyone, and their voices are bleeding out into the open air. 

Jon and I originally went out here to just talk and relax, but we haven’t really said a word. The silence is okay, though, and I can’t help but worry for when Jon does go home, if this week could be his demise. I wonder about what will really happen when this is all over. 

“Will we hate each other by the end of this?” I ask, my tongue working much too fast for me to stop. 

“Why would we hate each other?” he asks, smirking at me. 

“It’s just that,” I mutter. “Like, if one of us wins, which, between me and you, totally possible, but if one of us wins, then the other one is going to be pretty angry, right? You gotta admit, you’d be pissed if I won, especially if we were the last two or something.”

Jon doesn’t seem offended or worried about the future. Instead, he shrugs his shoulders and leans back. “I’ll probably be angry for a while, but it’s just a show, Brendon. Our true talents can’t actually be measured on some silly reality TV show. Just because you or me or someone else wins doesn’t mean that either of us should be discouraged.” 

I blink a few times, my eyes retreating down to the pool’s rippling water. That’s the thing about Jon, he’s always so sure about his words, so calm about the truths that fall from his mouth. It all sounds right, but he could be wrong. If I lose, who is to say that that isn’t the truth, that that isn’t my sign to give up in the music industry? 

“You’re just saying that because you know you’re going to win,” I say with a light tone. “I mean, look at you, winning a night at a luxurious hotel. You’re a big shot now.” 

Jon laughs softly. “Yeah—“

“No, but. Brendon—no wait, guys!” 

Jon stops talking when we hear my name being yelled out from the kitchen. At first I think they’re beckoning me, but then I realize that it’s worse than that. 

“No, but Brendon, guys,” someone says. It sounds like Rachelle. “How is he still here? Is he sucking one of the judges dick’s?” 

Definitely Rachelle. 

Jon is looking over at me worriedly, mouth slightly open like he wants to tell me something, but I instantly bring a finger up to my lip, gesturing for him to shut the fuck up because they’re talking about me, seriously Jon, this isn’t the time. I stand up and creep closer to the window near the kitchen. The voice are more clear, the little snide comments. 

“Probably, Ryan,” someone mutters. People start laughing. “Or Spencer.” 

“You know what? They are pretty close, him and Ryan,” Rachelle insists. Jon is now standing next to me, puts a gentle hand on my shoulder like he’s trying to keep me from ambushing someone. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Brendon was sucking his dick. Like, how else would he get this far in the competition?”

I jolt alive, nearly running to the kitchen door, and slamming it open. Everyone silences and looks just a little sorry for what they were just saying, except for Rachelle, who is just smirking at me. 

“I’m still here because, unlike you, I have actual talent,” I hiss at just her, because I could care less about everyone else right now. “They just keep girls like you around because you look good.” I turn around, about ready to tear through the house, but then I turn back before people start whispering. “And if you think I’m giving Ryan blowjobs, then you’re just jealous that he wouldn’t ever let you that close to his dick.” 

I finally do leave, listening to a few people holding back giggles. I think about going to Ryan’s room, wait in the hallway until he comes back, but I figure that probably isn’t the best place to be right now. Instead, I make my way over to the music room. It’s been empty recently. I guess no one has been inspired. 

I sit down at the piano bench and let my hands hover over the keys, so close to pushing them down. Before I make any attempt to play a habitual warm-up like I always do before practicing, I end up slamming my hands down, fists smashing at random keys. I do manage to pull myself together, enough to play the beginning of Fur Elise because it was the first thing I was ever taught. It’s the song that my fingers gravitate to. I play up until where my fingers start to stumble because I can’t remember the rest. I go back to the start, play what I do know because, of what I do know, it sounds great. 

Fucking Rachelle. I shouldn’t let it get to me. She’s just angry. She’s embarrassed. It’s not my fault I didn’t want to cozy up with her on national TV. Just think about it. It’s not like these reality TV show relationships ever go anywhere. They’re just the only people available at the time. You’re both in the same position. You’re lonely. You miss home. It’s just convenient and it’s nothing more once the TV show finishes. It was just fun. It’s just—

“Cacophony.”

I turn around to see the man behind all of this. He’s smirking at me, looks down to my fists now poised over the keys. I realized I’ve must have gotten to the part of the song I don’t know. I must have just kept playing even if I really had no idea what was next. 

“You sound like my old music teacher,” I smile. 

Ryan smiles back and then sits down in a chair next to the piano. He waits a moment and then comes out with it, “So, I heard you were sucking my dick?” 

The realization that Ryan is actually going to confront me about this outside of his room hits me a little too hard. I stutter out something, nothing that is real English, and then we just burst out laughing. 

“I feel like I should remember something like that,” Ryan says. 

“Where does Rachelle even think this is happening? Come on, Ryan, no matter how pretty you are, I don’t think I would want America to see that go down.” 

Ryan looks down, his face going red. It reminds me of when I first met him. He’s come out of his shell slowly but surely during the competition. He isn’t usually shy when we’re alone, but he becomes cautious when I see him in the house, especially when Spencer and I aren’t around him. I can only imagine it’s the persecution that could ensue if he did something wrong on camera. 

“Yeah,” Ryan says slowly. “I don’t think they would.” 

I scoff, pretending to look offended. “Are you insinuating I would be bad?” 

Ryan seems caught off guard and ends up coughing into his fist and giving me a goofy grin. “I don’t really want to know,” he tells me while he blushes even redder. 

I can only imagine that America is just imaging me giving a blowjob now, and that isn’t exactly what I’d want. 

“Feel free to send Rachelle home anytime now,” I tell Ryan, my voice not joking anymore. 

Ryan sighs. “I can’t make any promises.” 

***

When competition day rolls around, I naturally gravitate towards Ryan’s room. We’ve agreed to stop spending so much time in there so that the judges don’t get too angry. It’s hard, though, because Ryan was always there to calm me down before the competition, whether or not he knew he was doing it. 

As we’re walking downstairs, my body feels like it’s thrumming with useless energy. I’m hoping that it will come in handy with whatever it is we’re doing today. Once we get downstairs, the setup so recognizable, I have a feeling that it won’t be useful at all. 

There are rows of desks and a projector set up on a cart in front of the room, aimed at the wall across from it. Each desk has a handwritten card with each of our names on it. I find my seat, after searching through the class, and realize I’m directly in the back with Pete on my right and William on my left. 

Collin stands proudly at the front of the classroom with a man next to him. The unfamiliar man seems agitated, looking at all of us with a worried expression. He’s old, probably old enough to be my grandpa. Something about that gives me the feeling that today won’t be as easy as all my high school classes. 

“This week, you’ll learn about music theory, something that will definitely come up when you guys write songs,” Collin starts. “Today you will go through a rigorous three hour lesson and then another one tomorrow. On Friday, instead of a big competition, you’ll be given a test. The person with the lowest test grade won’t necessarily go home. We’re looking for people who are open to learning and who can not only understand these topics but use them while making music. So, good luck, your first class starts now with Mr. Johnson, a music professor here in California.” 

I try not to slouch in my chair, but I definitely feel relieved. I’ve taken two music theory classes and I’ve been learning this stuff in band since sixth grade. I should be fine at this. I realize that the rest of the kids probably know all of this stuff, too, though. 

Mr. Johnson starts passing out packets, and when I get mine I scan through it. He’s starting from the beginning with the treble and bass clef. I flip further, finding key signatures, intervals, chords, and then the final pages are about writing four-part songs. It doesn’t look too complex but if someone here hasn’t studied most of this previously, then it might seem like a lot. 

I quickly look around, trying to gauge people’s reactions. Only a few people look actually worried, and since two of them are judges I don’t really count it.

***

Ryan taps his pencil on the side of his workbook, huffing out yet another sigh. He looks up to me, gives me an exasperated expression, and waits for me to tell him the answer. 

“What now?” I ask.

It’s Thursday morning, Ryan and I deciding that it would be appropriate to hide away one day a week. It’s early too, earlier than I would ever actually get up at. No one will probably wonder where I’ve wandered off to, and will think that I’m just asleep still. Our next lesson is scheduled for two in the afternoon, which is better than when I was still in school and had to get up at six in the morning. 

Ryan points to the bottom of his page and slumps his shoulders. “I don’t understand. These two sound the same.” 

I read aloud the print that is right beneath his finger. “Voice crossing and voice overlapping,” I start. “Okay, no, these aren’t he same, Ry.” 

I go on to explain to him the difference of the two, Ryan listening with rapt attention, even if it’s evident that this is not what he wants to be doing. We’ve been at this for an hour by now, working on our “homework” from yesterday while we listen to the music on Ryan’s phone. Ryan understands most of it, but there are some things that he’s obviously never learned. 

“Fuck, you know, I bet Patrick is going to do better than me on this test,” Ryan mutters as he writes something in. “He’ll brag about it, too.” 

I smile down to my paper. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah. And, not to mention, Hayley, I bet she’ll do well.”

“You know most of this, though.”

Ryan just shrugs, finishes the page and leans into me. “I’m done finally,” he says tiredly. “Can we make out now?” 

Right as he says it, someone knocks at the door. It’s not like we have to wonder who it is, since the only other person who knows about this room is Spencer. Ryan looks annoyed and groans, pushing his face further into my sweatshirt. 

“Are you going to get that?” I ask, gently pushing him off from me. 

He gives me a long look and I decide to take that as a no. I stand up, walking over and opening the door. Spencer doesn’t look angry like I thought he would be, and instead, he pushes past me and goes over to Ryan, enveloping him in a hug. 

“Happy birthday, Ryan!” he yells, bringing a hand up to his head to ruffle his hair. 

I watch, wondering how I just spent an entire hour with Ryan and he didn’t feel the need to tell me it was his birthday. I try not to look annoyed as I watch Ryan push Spencer off from him. 

“Don’t remind me,” he says, rolling his eyes.

Spencer grins and looks around, at me and then to our open packets now discarded onto the ground. “Brendon, are you cheating on Ryan?” 

Ryan bursts out laughing. 

Spencer turns to me and says, “Just kidding, I know Ryan sucks at all this. Don’t let him take all your answers.”

“Hey! He’s just explaining it to me better than that Johnson prick,” Ryan says. 

Spencer scoffs. “You’re just angry that a teacher doesn’t love you,” he says. “But, um, I’m gonna go now because I’m supposed to be helping with your birthday breakfast. We’re having a party or something? You guys might wanna make an appearance soon.” 

Spencer leaves and Ryan groans again, this time not into my sweatshirt but into one of the pillows on the couch. I sit down next to him and let my fingers thread through is shaggy hair. 

“Why didn’t you tell me it was your birthday?” I ask quietly. 

Ryan isn’t quick to answer. Instead, he ducks his head and fingers a loose thread on his jeans. He eventually speaks up, saying, “I was hoping that everyone wouldn’t know.” 

The only people I know who want to ignore their birthdays are old people who can’t admit their life is slipping away. Ryan, though, he’s young and he should be celebrating and soaking up the attention.

I grab for his hand, breathe in slowly and then kiss him gently. Ryan seems surprised for a beat, but he catches on and kisses me back. We lean our foreheads together and I keep my eyes closed. 

“Happy birthday,” I whisper. 

***

The girls and William and Spencer put together a breakfast meal for Ryan’s birthday, but it’s enough food to feed the entire house. I help to set the table, humming a song from Ryan’s band under my breath. Everyone crowds around, finding a seat and then serving themselves the pancakes and French toast.

Ryan sits next to Spencer and Patrick, laughing at something they’re talking about. I wanted to sit by Ryan, but with what everyone is saying about us, I didn’t exactly want them to think it’s true. So, I sit back and carefully eye him from the other side of the table, smiling down at my breakfast so that no one can see my goofy grin. 

Moments like that, when we’re all together and happy and feeling like one unit, it hurts the most. I know that one of us is going to go home and then another and then another. It just keeps going until there is only the sole survivor. 

When we are all lined up, though, waiting for our names to be called after we’ve taken our test, I definitely hope it isn’t my name that doesn’t get called. Maybe I hate seeing the others go home, but I don’t think I would ever be okay with myself going home. So, for now, I impatiently listen to what Collin is saying. 

“You’ve all taken the music test and we’ve taken the scores and overall attitudes into account for who is going home this week,” he says. 

The test didn’t seem hard. I finished right away, realizing that everyone else was still working on theirs. I spent some time trying to find things to correct but there was none, so I ended up spending twenty minutes staring at the desk like I was trying to remember something important. I felt like I had done something wrong, and that there had to be someone who was quicker and smarter than me at this, but no one had finished until later. 

It makes me feel a little nervous, but I don’t think I could’ve done poorly enough to be going home. I tried to be upbeat and ask questions and pretend to look interested while we were in the classroom. Mr. Johnson seemed pleased with my work, too. 

Spencer is going to call us up, and he spends a couple minutes looking at the paper and then covering it to memorize all of our names. He finally starts, clearing his throat and then saying, “The winner of this competition receives a five-hundred dollar gift card to Guitar Center, and that person is…Brendon.” 

I smile instantly, going up to put my ring away and then stepping in line with the judges. I feel euphoric, like I finally did something right. It took long enough. I’ve spent the last two weeks in the bottom two, absolutely sure I was going home. Now, though, I feel like I’m back to the top, like people are starting to realize that I’m a real threat. 

I watch as four people get called up, leaving only Jon and Marina. I instantly feel protective for Jon, that there is no way he could go home. If he goes home then the alliance is fucked because there isn’t a way that Pete, Rachelle and I could all work together. 

Thankfully, Marina goes home, crying and making sure to hug everyone that’s left here. I realize that we’re now at the bottom five. We’re a week away from having less people than the judges. 

Then, while I’m hugging Marina, her mascara staining my sleeve, I realize that I could win. I could win this. I had my doubts, but now, with only four people left to compete with, I could win. 

I’m going to win.


	12. WEEK 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To clarify, Marina went home last week. I can't keep track of my own fic. 
> 
> Also, I only ever wrote all of my music theory compositions in c major.

WEEK 11

 

I let my fingers skim over Ryan’s bare skin as I keep myself from thinking any further than this moment. I have too much to think about most of the time. Now, though, I should be taking this moment in, the way that Ryan is breathing in perfect tempo, his face resting on my chest.

We’ve been like this for nearly an hour now. I know I should be going soon, that people are going to start getting suspicious, but I can’t help it. Being able to stay with Ryan and to just talk is enough to keep me pushing my luck. 

“Do you feel better,” Ryan says abruptly, tipping his head up so he can look at me. “Better about coming out?” 

I look across the room awkwardly. “Maybe. I guess it’s nice. But, for now, I don’t really think it’s the best label to have.”

“Yeah, but now when you get famous it won’t be a big deal if you wanted to come out,” Ryan tells me. He says it in a teasing tone, but there is a hint of jealousy in it. 

“I don’t think getting famous is really a definite thing right now, Ryan,” I say. 

Ryan knows I want this, but there’s only so much I can do to prove it to him. When I say things like that, though, part of me wants to retract them, tell him that I don’t really mean it, that I know I’m going to get famous and win. It just feels like a gamble most days. I’m close, close enough to have just a little hope, but none of it is definite. 

“I don’t know, Bren. I just feel like you’re not thinking of how good it will be to have already come out, for people to know right away instead of having to hide it. You could be, like, an inspiration to kids.” 

There is some truth to what he is saying. I know that I won’t have to deal with gay rumors or questioning because it will already be on the table. Maybe Rachelle thought I was straight, but people would find out, they would figure it out. 

“Inspiration?” I scoff. “I didn’t even want to come out. I even said that. There’s really nothing inspiring about me. I didn’t want to tell anyone because I thought it would keep me from winning. I don’t think that’s really admirable.” 

“I think if you wanted to, Brendon, you could’ve kept you being gay a secret.” 

“Maybe.”

Ryan smiles and gives me a slow kiss, his fingers threading through my hair. “I wish I could come out,” he tells me slowly, giving me a sad smile. 

I freeze. “Why don’t you?” 

“Well, you know, if I come out now and we become, like, a public couple then people are gonna think the show is rigged. They’ll think you used me to win. You don’t deserve that because you don’t need my help to win.” 

“Ryan,” I say, my stomach churning uncomfortably. “Fuck, I’m. I’m sorry.” 

I knew Ryan wanted to come out badly, that he was even considering it, but I never thought of it in this light. Ryan has been hiding his entire life and he finally gets an inkling of confidence from me, and then I take it away. He’s right, too. There’s no way that people wouldn’t suspect me of cheating. I’ve completely taken away his chance to come out if I win. 

I barely think about it when I say, “Send me home. Vote me off, Ryan. I’m serious.” 

Ryan shakes his head, the fear shining in his eyes. “What? No. Why would I do that?” 

“If you send me home then you can come out and we can be a couple. I don’t care about winning anymore.” 

I’ve spent the past ten weeks in this house working to win. Now, though, there’s no way I could win without thinking of Ryan, what could have happened for him if I wouldn’t have come out. Ryan deserves to not have to hide such a big part of his life. It doesn’t seem fair for me to be stopping him. 

“No, Brendon,” Ryan says firmly, pushing away from me and crossing his arms over his chest. “I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“You’re doing it to yourself! You don’t get it. I want you to send me home, Ryan. If you did then you can finally come out. I can do something else, okay? You, though, Ryan, you can tell everyone. I’m okay, don’t worry.” 

“No!” Ryan shouts. Immediately after he yells it, he looks down, embarrassed. “I’m not going to do that. This is an opportunity for you. Don’t waste it.” 

I stand up abruptly, angrily walking towards the door. “Then I’ll find a way to go home. Maybe I’ll finally punch Pete or do badly on purpose at the competition or—“

“Don’t throw the competition,” Ryan says firmly. “Don’t. Just, if you wanna do something for me, Brendon, then don’t do that.” 

I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and then I decide that it’s probably best for me to just leave, so I do.

***

I spend too much time thinking about Ryan. I tell myself that I won’t come looking for trouble. I’ve still got four more eliminations ahead of me, and the chances of me getting sent home are high. Sure, I’m a good musician, but so is everyone else. It’s presumptuous for Ryan and I to be talking like it’s guaranteed I’ll win. 

As to punching Pete, I tell myself that I won’t do it unless he’s really asking for it. The thing is, though, he’s been low key lately. He didn’t even have a set plan to get someone eliminated. He didn’t call a meeting this week either. Part of me hopes that he’s just given up on the idea of the alliance, that sure, we had judges on our sides, but that isn’t going to stop the inevitability of going home. 

I watch Pete from across the kitchen. He’s squinting at a packet of papers in front of him and scribbling things down on a notebook. It seems suspicious but as long as it has nothing to do with him trying to send me home, then it’s probably harmless. 

I hear the microwave beep and it takes me a few moments to realize that I was the one that started it. I take out my noodles and then sit down at the breakfast nook, deciding that it’s probably not the best idea to sit down next to Pete and try to get information out of him. Hayley and Victoria come into the kitchen, smiling at me and then sitting down. 

“Hey, Brendon, what’s up?” Victoria asks from beside me. 

I motion to my noodles. “Just, you know, preparing for the competition.” 

They both nod their heads, and then Hayley asks, “What do you think the competition is going to be this week?” 

“No idea,” I say, taking some of the noodles into my mouth. While chewing, I say, “I’m sure you guys know, though.” 

I listen as they giggle. “Maybe we do,” Victoria says. 

I roll my eyes and finish my meal as we make idle chit-chat. They make hints at what we’re going to do this week, but the only thing I can gather is that it’s more school work. It might be boring, but I obviously handled it well last week so I should be fine this week. 

The announcements tell us to head downstairs, and I take my time to put away my bowl and walk there. Like last week, they have a classroom set up. On each desk there is a laptop and blank sheets of staff music. I find my way to the same seat I had last week, the same place card there already. 

I realize that Ryan is staring at me, turned around at his desk, his eyes sending me a warning. I watch as he mouths, “Don’t.” I told him I was going to throw the competition. Now, though, with one less person sitting with us than last week, it seems like an outrageous notion. I slowly nod to Ryan and watch as he turns around in his seat. 

Collin is alone this week, standing in front of the classroom while the camera crew works on lighting and angles. He fixes his tie slightly and when he’s cued, he starts talking. “Last week, you guys learned about the basics of music theory and got tested on it. This week, though, we’re going to see if you can utilize your new skills,” he says, grinning to all of us. “You will be writing your very own four-part song, with certain requirements that you must maintain. Not only is your work securing your place in the house, but the winner will spend an extravagant night out with all the judges.” 

Everyone oohs and ahs and once that bit is done with, some producers start passing out the requirements. It’s a simple sixteen measure piece, using whichever key we want, just as long as we break it into four sections and keep it in 4/4 time. It doesn’t seem like much work for me, or for anyone that has already done this kind of stuff, but it might be overwhelming for the others. 

They give us another packet of notes that will help us if we’ve forgotten anything. The laptops are for the writing. We have a program that we can use to input in all the notes. I instantly start writing mine on sheet music first, writing in the grand staff twice and deciding that it will probably be easiest to do this in the key of C major, even if everyone else will probably be writing in it. 

We have all of today to write it. I jump right in, thinking back to all my lessons and working quickly, listening to what I have so far with nearly every change. The computer makes it sound rough, so I make sure to add dynamics and really think about what it is I’m writing. 

I finish after a few hours. A few people have left, gone for a break for now. I crack my hands and listen to it. I nod a few times in it, the song now too familiar in my ears and I know when anything is going to happen. Once it’s finished, I realize that something still isn’t there. I listen to it again. Still, something isn’t right. Something is missing. 

I listen to it until I get frustrated, ready to just give in and turn it in as it is. Then it hits me; the song needs a reason. I don’t ever just sit down with my guitar and write a song. I sit down and write a song with a reason. I write it about my feelings or about someone or the world around me. That song, the one I wrote just now, I didn’t have anything. I was just writing. 

I quickly take some more empty sheet music and rush upstairs. I find myself in the music room, sitting down behind one of the grand pianos. No one else is in here, everyone lounging in the living room with earphones in, looking stressed. I place my fingers on the keys and think of Ryan. 

I don’t think of how much I want to win, or how much I want to impress everyone, and I just think of what I feel for Ryan. 

***

On Saturday morning, we get woken up early, being told by bossy producers that we need to be ready and downstairs in an hour. I get ready slowly, standing under the shower spray for maybe too long. I mainly think about my song. I finished it just before the twelve o’clock mark, my fingers feeling achy from all the work they did. 

The song was really something by the time I finished. Even if there was no lyrics, it felt like I was bleeding out all my feelings. It was slow, much slower than I intended it to be. I didn’t end up staying in the key of C major, either. My fingers had somehow found their own song to play on the piano and I made sure to write it down. 

And, sure, maybe it was what I was looking for, what I wanted to write in a song, but I’m not sure what the judges will think. I did everything I was told, but my song really wasn’t that joyful or fun. 

I try not to dwell on it as we all shuffle downstairs to figure out who is going to the symphony with the judges. I definitely want to win, wanted to win the second I heard about the prize. Not only could I spend a whole night out of the house, but it would also be with the judges. 

“All of the judges and Mr. Johnson, your teacher from last week, have looked at and listened to the compositions all of you have written,” Collins says. “They were very impressed by all of them, but only one person can win, and that person is Brendon, again.” 

The judges all clap for me and pat me on the back, and Hayley even pulls me into a hug while Victoria messes up my hair. The smile on my face doesn’t seem to want to go away, and I keep it there until they dismiss us, saying that elimination will be when we get back.

We take the limo, only the six of us talking excitedly about our night off. Everyone gushes about my composition on the way there. It feels great to finally be doing the right things, but there’s still a sick thought in my head, that maybe this all Ryan’s fault. I want to win more than anything, but the feeling that what Ryan feels for me is overshadowing my actual work seems to loom over me the entire night. 

The show is great either way. We sat in and silence and listened to them tune, the few who needed to change something stopping and joining again. My fingers don’t sit still during all of it, and I can’t help but to tap my foot to the tempo and watch the conductor make dramatic movements with each measure. 

After a song finishes, Ryan hands me a paper with all the song names and composers on it. I’m not sure what song we’re on, but I end up reading them all. The last one makes me freeze up, though, makes me squint and push my face closer to the paper. It’s my name, under the awful name I gave my composition. 

“Surprise,” Hayley says, giving me a big smile from beside me. 

“They took what you had and expanded it a little. Gave it a percussion part, too,” Ryan whispers. “Apparently they really liked it, the conductor included.” 

Spencer and Patrick give me high fives, stretching over Ryan to do so. We start laughing and the people in front of us turn around to figure out what’s going on, which only makes us laugh louder. The next song starts and I know it. I spent so much time working on it, perfecting it, that there isn’t a way I could miss the first few notes and not know it’s my song.

I end up smiling like an idiot during the entire song, watching the careful movements of the string section. It sounds even sadder listening to it live, but it’s honest and I didn’t mean for it be sad. When it finishes, all the judges make a big show of clapping and giving me compliments. 

Ryan and I hang back as we’re walking outside, a few security guards escorting out group. We’re talking about some of the songs we thought were good and then I can’t help it when I ask in a quiet voice, “Ryan, you didn’t, like, you know, make sure I won so that I wouldn’t be sent home. I know I said I was going to do bad on purpose but—“

“I didn’t need to convince them, Brendon,” he interrupts me in a stern voice. “They already know who’s going to win. They don’t really need me to tell them that it’s you.” 

I let most of my worries of the night go away, deciding that Ryan is probably being honest. I smile to the ground, nonchalantly bumping my shoulder against his while we’re walking. He grins and does it back, and it feels like things are going to be okay. 

***

I don’t have much time to talk to anyone about my night out when we get back to the house because we’re immediately directed downstairs where everyone is waiting for us. I quickly stumble into the line of competitors and fold up the paper from the symphony and place it in my pocket. 

“Now that we’re all here,” Collin says, smiling at me. I try to smile back. “This week was not just important to win for a prize, but also because this week is a double elimination.” Cue the gasps. “That’s right; two of you are going home tonight. Only three will remain after this elimination.” 

Even if I’ve just won, I still don’t feel secure. Maybe I just did well this week, and the judges see hope in everyone else. 

Patrick goes to the front of the room and smiles at us, waiting for his cue as we get our rings. I don’t bother looking down at the ring, looking over it like I do every week. It’s going to be the same. Patrick takes his sweet time before saying the first name, and I guess I shouldn’t be as surprised as I am, but Patrick does end up calling my name. 

I hurry to give him my ring and run a nervous hand through my hair as I wait to see which two are going home. Part of me just wants Pete and Rachelle to go home, to have them off my back, but William and Jon are big competition, and I’m sure the judges know it. 

Jon gets called up next, giving me a half-hug when he puts away his ring. I knew Jon was going to get this far, and I probably could have guessed it when I met him for the first time on the bus here. He’s got something, and I just don’t know yet if I have it, too. 

The final name that Patrick calls is Pete’s. That’s it. There’s only three of us left and for some reason, Pete has to be the one who I’m left with. I watch as Jon’s face falls and he goes to hug William, who is obviously trying not to break out in tears. Rachelle doesn’t cry, either. She just looks defeated as she hugs the judges goodbye and slips her ring onto her finger. She even ends up hugging me, giving me a sad smile before going upstairs to pack with William. 

I look around to see just Pete and Jon, the only two people left. I remember when it was all fifteen of us together, all ready to win, and somehow I’ve made it this far.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "no matter what they say, i'm still the king, and the storm is coming"


	13. WEEK 12

WEEK 12

 

Somehow, I’ve managed to get Ryan flat against a wall, one hand in his hair and the other in mine, adding a gentle pressure to the crown of my head. I bob forward, making an embarrassing noise as one of my own hands moves on the part of Ryan’s dick that I can’t reach. I have a feeling, though, that he won’t even really notice my noises because he’s leaning against the wall with his mouth open and his own noises falling out of it.

“Fuck, Bren…yes, I’m close,” he says all at once, his sentences finished with a quiet moan. 

I keep going even if my jaw is definitely at war with me. Ryan seems to appreciate this, and the hand in my hair tightens some. One of my hands is resting on his hips, which was most likely a subconscious gesture to keep Ryan from choking me, but his hips end up moving forward without me stopping them. 

There’s no warning when Ryan comes, but he does manage to pull back a little, some of his come splattering on my chin and the side of my lips. I swallow what is in my mouth and then stand up, pushing closer to Ryan and then kissing him. He pulls back, examining my face and whispering, “Sorry.” He starts to kiss me again, moving down to lick up the come that’s still on my face. 

Ryan’s hand slips down to my jeans, undoing the button and the zipper. I push closer, his palm flat against my hard-on. Ryan laughs lowly into our kiss and then his fingers play with the waistband of my boxers. 

An abrupt knock on the door makes us split apart instantly. I end up nearly tripping one of our shirts that’s on the ground as I whirl around to stare at the closed door. It’s not like Spencer doesn’t know that Ryan and I mess around in here, and that’s probably why he doesn’t spend much time in here anymore, but it’s one thing to know than to see us like this. 

Ryan passes me my shirt and nods his head towards my open pants. I was maybe hoping we would just be able to ignore the door but obviously Ryan has different ideas. I get ready, zipping up my pants painfully slow. I was so close to finally being touched, and the only reason Ryan is okay with this is because he’s already gotten off. 

Before I walk to open the door, Ryan stops me and pushes down my hair and fixes the collar of my shirt slightly. I roll my eyes and then head towards the door, opening it with my shoulders slumped. I barely even register who it is behind the door until he lets out a laugh, sharp and menacing. 

I try to keep myself from slamming the door shut, but fuck, Pete Wentz is standing outside the door of a room that no one but Spencer, Ryan, and me are supposed to know about. 

“Can I come in?” Pete asks in confident voice, head cocked as if asking for me to say no to him. 

I silently back up and Pete takes his chance to step forward and shut the door after him. He looks around the room, his eyes roaming across all the cluttered papers on the desk and definitely on Ryan, sitting on the couch, his mouth open slightly. He’s obviously terrified. 

“I take it there’s no cameras in here?” Pete asks, now glancing up to the ceilings. 

“No,” I say. My voice is noticeably shaky. 

Pete nods slowly, and then gives me a long look. “Well, I’m not going to pretend that I don’t know what’s going on here.” 

“It’s really nothing Pete, I just happened to find the room once and Ryan said if I kept it a secret I could stay in here every once in a while. It’s not…” I trail on, not exactly sure where I’m going with this story. 

“Let me clarify,” Pete says, looking between Ryan and me. “I know what’s going on between you two.” 

I try not to look nervous because I definitely feel it. “No, Pete. That’s not, there’s nothing going on with us, it’s just—“ I’m not even sure what I’m supposed to say. I have to deny it, but I don’t want to outright say that Ryan isn’t gay. This will just be another reason why he can’t come out. 

“Look, Pete—“ Ryan starts. 

“No. Don’t even try to bullshit me; I wasn’t born yesterday.” Pete looks me up and down, giving me an exasperated expression. “Come on, guys, really? I’m just asking for one thing.” 

“What…What do you want?” I say quietly. Ryan lets out a puff of air and gives me a long look. I know that he wants to keep saying that Pete has it all wrong, but it’s pretty obvious. 

“What do you think I want?” Pete laughs, turning to Ryan. “You’re on my side now. You, Spencer, and Patrick are with me.”

“I can’t just lie about how you do,” Ryan says, obviously alarmed. 

“I’m not asking to lie,” Pete says. “Just don’t go pointing out all my flaws, alright? Just talk about what the others did wrong and not me.” 

I scoff as Ryan goes, “Pete, I can’t just—“

“I could just tell everyone, the producers, William, the judges, all about how you’re messing around with Brendon and making sure he stays so you two can keep it up. Don’t tempt me. I’m not asking for much.”

Ryan’s face goes deadly serious. “I’m not the reason Brendon is still here. He’s here because—“

“Look, I don’t really care. Take the offer or don’t. It’s simple.” 

Ryan looks over to me, helpless eyes searching mine for answers. 

I offer him none. 

***

With only eight people in the house, it’s easy to ignore Pete. All the rooms are silent, and every move any of us makes seems to echo out, like we’re wearing collars with bells on so that the camera men can find us. I spend most of the time with Jon or Spencer, talking about anything but the show and Pete.

The thing is, though, I already know what I’m doing with Pete. 

Ryan’s petrified about the situation and won’t come anywhere near me, giving Spencer messages to pass on. He wants to just ignore it and make sure Pete goes home this week, like that will solve everything. I’ve thought about it, played out scenarios where Pete actually kept quiet and I went on to win, forcing Ryan to never come out. 

I know what I have to do. I should’ve just done it last week before Pete found out. If I would have just done poorly on purpose for the competition, then this all wouldn’t be a problem. Now, since I’ve won two competitions in a row, I’ll have to mess up so badly that the judges have to send me home. 

I decide to give my mom a courtesy call before I do go home. The phone room is open, which is really no surprise, so I go in and get comfortable as I check my messages. There’s only one from my mom and I push play as I lean back in the chair. 

“Hey, Brendon, it’s Mom,” she says, laughing a little. “You probably know that. Well, it’s just been a few weeks since I’ve gotten an update, and I was just wondering how it was going. I mean,” she laughs nervously again. “It must be going well if you’re still there. But, nonetheless, I just wanted to drop in and say hi and that I hope you’re doing well. I can’t wait to see you when you win, Brenny. Bye!” 

The line clicks off and the operator is asking me if I want to delete the message. I decide to play it again, listening to the message another time through. 

Shit. 

I’m throwing it all away, all of my chances. I know why I’m doing it. I’m doing it for Ryan. Still though, there’s a part of me that feels like a disappointment to everyone I know. Here is my mom declaring that she’s going to see me when I win. Even if she’s joking, it still makes me feel like a failure, like I’m doing the wrong thing. 

Either way, I need to make a story the judges will believe. 

I dial her number back, waiting a few rings until my mom answers cheerily. 

“Hey, Mom,” I say, my voice saddened without me even trying. “I got your message. Thought I would call.” 

“Yeah? That’s nice of you,” she says. “So?” 

I clear my throat, prepare my lines and then say, “I don’t know. It’s just…I’m not sure anymore. I feel like the pressure is getting to me.” 

“Brendon, you’re almost done, right? Are you in the bottom four yet?” 

“Three. I’m in the bottom three,” I correct her. “It’s too much pressure. I’m missing home, too. I just think I might end up going home this week. I’m not feeling it like I was when I first started the competition.” 

I think about crying, but the last thing people need to see is the gay kid crying to his mother. 

My mom sighs audibly. “This doesn’t sound like you, Bren. I’m sure you’ll do fine. You can’t worry.” 

“I just…” 

I need to sell this. 

***

When competition day comes, they get us into a limo and I avoid sitting next to Ryan and Pete. I squish in between Victoria and Hayley, who both seem interested in this, playing with my hair and teasing me about what we’re going to have to do today again. 

Of course, I do know what today is. Bottom three always start writing their song that they’re going to perform next week. This is a crucial week. Messing up this week can get you thrown off the show too easily. Hopefully, going home won’t be too tough. 

I’ve got a plan. Usually the judges want the bubble-gum pop songs, the one’s that the audience and America will love when we perform them next week. I just need to write a song that has no hook that goes on forever with no sight of the end. That’s not it, though. I need to be impossible to work with, a real whiny teenager. No one will want to work with me after they watch this. 

I’m doing this for Ryan. 

Each of us has our own room in the studio. Mine is small, one part of the room open with a mixing board. The other has a glass wall separating it with a microphone up. When I first walk in, my breath catches a little, like I’m finally realizing the extent of how far I’ve made it. I’ve dreamed about being in a professional studio, working on a song that I knew would be a hit. It all tastes sour now. I’m not making a hit. I’m making a train wreck. 

They give us some time by ourselves, bringing us instruments of our choice. Technically, we’re supposed to have a song ready by now, or at least have an idea. I had one, way back during the first few weeks when I knew I would be here, and it was a good song, too. I had started it before I even got in the house, made sure my family and Shane liked it before I used it. Now, the song is nothing. I have to start from scratch today, which will only going to make me look even less professional. 

I strum on a guitar, occasionally writing down lyrics for the hour we have by ourselves. I make sure there’s no hook, no part that everyone can sing along to, and I don’t bother singing too high or low, just normal. Nothing special. 

When the door opens to the studio, I guess it isn’t really a surprise to see Ryan. Like every other season, the judges all make one song together, and record it when we are recording ours. The judges do always end up checking up on the three competitors left, though. I don’t exactly think it’s luck that Ryan was the one chosen to mentor me. 

He sits down across from me, looking around the room for a few moments and then asking softly, “Do you wanna play what you have so far?” 

I never told Ryan about my plan. If I did, I would have never heard the end about how I didn’t need to do that for him. I need to. I messed this up for him. 

Playing my song for him is embarrassing. I’m not uncomfortable singing to Ryan anymore, or playing in front of him, it’s that what I’m playing isn’t my best. I do everything to make sure I come out on top, and here I am messing up on purpose. I watch as Ryan’s face falls, not too much, but it’s noticeable. He’s confused, probably annoyed, maybe disappointed. 

When I finish, I wait for him to say something, but he’s just staring at me, so I end up saying, “It’s kind of rough right now.”

“Um, yeah,” he finally says. “Um, you might wanna…” 

He probably came in here planning to hear a song that would need no help, probably was just so excited to hear what I was doing that he offered to come see me, even if everyone thinks we’re together. 

Ryan clears his throat awkwardly. 

“Don’t worry about it.” I wave my hand, give him a bright smile. “I still have more work to do.” 

This seems to appease the camera men that have been in and out of the room since I started, and they shut off their cameras and start messing around with the wires. Ryan shuffles closer to me, giving me a stern look. 

“Don’t do this,” he whispers. “Please, Brendon. Don’t.” 

It’s hard to see him like this. He’s begging. I know that he doesn’t want this and that he’ll probably feel guilty about it, but if I don’t then I’ll be the guilty one. 

“What am I doing?” I try to smile, try not to think about how pathetic what I’m saying is. 

Ryan sighs and completely ignores me. “It isn’t going to work. Whatever you’re doing. It’s not going to. They’ll love whatever you put out,” he says, voice raised, so that the camera men are giving us suspicious looks. “So you might as well do it fucking right.” 

With that, he exits, leaving me with my acoustic guitar and a notebook of lyrics that definitely aren’t about him. 

***

We spend all day and night in the recording studio, none of us finishing. Most of it is, though. I’ve met with the session artists, talked to them about my song and given them what they need to play, but besides that, I haven’t even recorded vocals yet. This week’s competition has two parts, one being in the studio and recording, and the other being stage presence. 

They take us to the venue we’re supposed to be performing at next week. It’s an arena with a large stage and even a walkway reaching out into the audience. They do it at the same place every season. I always thought I’d be performing here one day, used to imagine what it would feel like on stage with all the seats filled. 

Standing here now, center stage, overlooking the sea of seats and the array of lights overhead, part of me wants to shut down. I don’t usually get nervous, but the thought of actually singing here makes me a little shaky. 

We are given an hour to prepare a song, and play it or sing it to the empty stadium. I ask for a guitar and find myself a corner in the dressing room to prepare. I pick a song at random, one that I already know, and just sing it over and over again. I didn’t plan out how I’m going to mess this up, but I’m sure I’ll figure it out. 

After a while, Spencer comes into my room, and I just assume he’s here to check up on me like Ryan did, but there’s no camera’s following him. He looks upset as he closes the door and rushed over to me. 

“What the fuck, Brendon?” he snarls.

I flinch. I’ve never heard Spencer like this. It’s terrifying. I just end up with my mouth open, not sure how to respond.

“Ryan told me about what you’re doing,” he says, hips cocked, voice still as harsh as before. “You have to stop. I know you’re scared of Pete but—“

“I’m not scared of him,” I interrupt. 

“Fuck off, alright? You’re scared. I get it. We can make Pete shut up. We can’t give you another chance if you fuck up this week. Don’t worry about Ryan. He’s an adult.” 

“You don’t get it, Spencer.” I say, sighing and wishing that this wasn’t happening. 

“No. No, you don’t get it. I really don’t want to be the one to tell you this, Brendon, but you’re gonna figure it out anyways. After this show, if you win or you don’t, Ryan’s not going to have time for you. He’s just passing the time right now. He has to go back to touring and you…you’ll have to go back to doing whatever it was you were doing before this. So don’t think for a second that if you go home on purpose, you’ll win his heart or something. It’s not going to work.” 

I just stare at Spencer, mouth hanging open. He’s lying. I’m sure of it. He’s just saying all of this to get me to actually do my best. He’s lying. There’s no way this could be true. I’m not a pass time, some temporary lover. 

Spencer walks over to the door, but before he leaves completely, he goes, “Don’t fuck with me, Urie.” 

Once he’s gone, I’m not even sure how to go forward with this. Spencer can’t be telling the truth. I can’t let this distract me. It does, though. I end up spending the rest of my time with my fingers on the frets, but I don’t play or sing. It’s like my throat has closed up. 

Producers come and get me to go on stage. I’m first. They want me to have stage presence. I think of the only thing I can do to mess this up, and stare at the ground, my mouth too far away from the microphone, and my voice too quiet. I mess up the guitar part when I’m not even trying to, my fingers slipping when I’m changing a chord. I know I’m going downhill, that people will think so poorly of me now, and all I can think about is if Spencer was actually being honest. 

I finally do look up to the judges, giving them my best deer in the headlight eyes, and find Ryan with a hand up to his mouth and a sick look on his face. 

I know this is where I’ve sealed my fate. 

***

I spend the rest of Thursday at the studio, my eyes suspiciously watery as I record and talk to the studio producer. He helps me as much as he can, but it’s clear that he’s confused as to why I’ve made it this far. I try to act moody so that everyone will get annoyed with me, but I’m not much of an actor anymore. It’s probably clear to them that I’ve given up. 

By the time it’s Friday, elimination day, I can’t even think clearly. I avoid Ryan the best I can, but he keeps cornering me, giving me long looks, like he’s asking me to come to his room so we can talk. I ignore them the best I can, but he must know by now that I’ve ruined my chances. He looks worried. Too worried to think that I’ll be staying. 

When we go downstairs for elimination, my fingers are shaky, my whole body thrumming like I’m too cold. Pete looking at me intently, like he already knows what’s going to happen. I guess he does, especially after my performance yesterday. It hurts to think that Pete is going on to perform in that arena while I have to go home. 

It’s for Ryan. I just need to keep telling myself that. I owe him. I want him to be happy, whether or not he actually does plan on getting rid of me after the show. 

“Hello,” Collin says to us with a bright smile. God, I actually think I’m going to miss it. “I know this week has been tough, but one of you has to go home tonight, leaving us with the final two.” 

I feel like I can’t breathe. 

I watch as Spencer goes up to collect rings. He watches me with dark eyes. I only get shakier as they give us our rings. I look at it for a few moments, spin it around in my palm and then slip it on. The first name Spencer calls it Jon’s, which isn’t really a surprise. He’s a natural performer, I can only bet his song is great, too. 

Spencer lets the tension build, lets me have hope for maybe a few seconds that I might stay, that I’ll be able to sing in front of everyone and that Ryan won’t really mind about never coming out. I think about how many times I’ve been in the bottom two now. Too many times. I know how this feels already. I just don’t know how it feels to not have my name called. 

Spencer gives me one last bitter looks and says, “Pete.” 

Pete doesn’t give me one glance, just bolts forward to put his ring away. 

I definitely can’t breathe now. 

It feels like a blur as I watch as everyone congratulates Pete and hugs him and leaves me standing cold by myself, with my stupid ring on my finger. I try not to cry. I knew this was happening. I shouldn’t need to cry. I never thought I would be here, though. That I would end up not being called. 

Ryan is the first to hug me. He rushes up, no words exchanged, just wraps his arms around me and lets his fingers dig into my back. “You idiot,” he whispers to me. 

I think that maybe this hug is too long, that maybe people are going to be suspicious, but I realize that it doesn’t really matter anymore. That was what this was all about. 

I’m not expecting it when Ryan, completely ignoring the cameras and the judges and competitors and producers, just says, “I love you.”


	14. WEEK 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey, look, it's the last chapter. epilogue next week. thanks for the love, guys.

WEEK 13

 

Officially, I’m supposed to be staying at a hotel for the week left. 

Like usual, all the competitors come back to watch the final two battle it out. It seems like torture at this point. With some of the competitors, the ones who got eliminated weeks ago, watching probably won’t hurt that much. They knew they didn’t have a chance, really. For me, though, the wound is still fresh, and watching them perform is only going to make me hurt worse. 

My mom comes to pick me up at the hotel after the driver drops me off with my bags. The doorman asks if I need help, and I decline, just leaning against the side of the building and waiting for my ride. 

It’s surreal to be back in the real world again. After spending so long at the house, I nearly forgot how people act when they’re not being constantly filmed. I can’t even begin to start my mourning yet. I just lost everything I’ve ever wanted, and the thought of the whole mess gives me a raging headache. 

When my mother drives up, she gets out of her car and pulls me in a hug. I hold onto her half-heartedly. Thankfully, she doesn’t prod, even if it’s obvious that she’s dying to know. We have a silent car ride home. I spend most of it going through my phone, which I wasn’t allowed to have in the house. I have messages from friends from school and relatives, emails from colleges, and friend requests from people I don’t know. 

I know my mom deserves an explanation. I just can’t decide if it would be easier to give her the version I’ve made up, or the truth. 

Once I’m back in my room, my suitcase lying unopened on my bed, I decide that it’ll probably be best to just get it over with. I walk to the kitchen, where my mom is stirring what looks like soup. She gives me a cheery smile when I enter, but doesn’t say anything. I’d almost rather her just ask me so I don’t genuinely look eager to talk about how I lost.

“I would’ve won,” I tell her quietly, sitting down at the kitchen table. “They loved me, the judges. I’m still kind of surprised they even bought my story.” 

My mother gives me another smile, a knowing one. 

And then I tell her my story.

***

They send a car to my house the next morning. I have an interview with the same channel that airs the show. It’s standard for every competitor to do an interview right after they get eliminated. They want to tear you open, make sure they get everything while it’s still fresh. People are going to care about my story, too. I was in the final three so I’ll probably have a half an hour special all about my hardships while I was in the house. 

They put me in hair and makeup the second I get there, a makeup artist prodding at my face for what seems like forever. A producer gives me directions while my hair is getting fixed. He says to answer all the questions honestly and to make sure to talk into the microphone, and I feel like this stuff should already be obvious. 

The set is bright, studio lights everywhere. There’s a couch set up, presumably all for me, and then a comfortable-looking arm chair across from it with a petite woman, maybe in her mid-twenties, sitting in it. When she sees me, she stands up, giving me a bright smile as she walks up to me. 

“Hello,” she says, still smiling way too bright for six in the morning. I try to return the favor. “I’m Kiera Welsh. It’s nice to meet you.” 

I shake hands with her and go, “I’m Brendon Urie.” 

Kiera starts to laugh. “Of course I know that.” She motions to the set. “Now, come on, we have an interview to do.”

I sit down on the couch, unsure of what to do with all the extra room, so I end up sitting back lazily. I wouldn’t exactly like to spend the interview looking miserable and completely broken down.

The interview starts with easy questions, about my background, me being gay, how I managed to snag a spot in the house, my audition process. I end up smiling like an idiot as I recall some of the stories. She even plays my original audition tape, and there I am, in Shane’s apartment playing Brittany Spears with a giant smile on my face. I talk about how I spent a whole day in line after I had made it through the first round in the pouring rain. It seems silly to me now, but then, it was the only thing I ever wanted. 

“Your first week in the house was kind of rough,” Kiera says, looking over the TV screen set up next to us. A clip of when we were first allowed in the house plays. Of course, they managed to capture me walking in the completely opposite direction of everyone else and into the music room. I smile as I watch as my past self walks into a bedroom the same time that Ryan does. I nearly blush from the embarrassment, because I look so star struck just standing there gaping at Ryan Ross. 

“You must’ve made quite an impression on Ryan, huh?” 

I can’t even help the goofy grin that just happens when I think about Ryan. “Yeah, we became pretty good friends,” I tell her.

And, of course, a montage of clips of Ryan and me spending time with each other is playing, leaving me feeling sick. I don’t even get to know what’s going on with Ryan. He told me he loved me. He wouldn’t lie about that. Ryan loving me, though, doesn’t mean he’s going to stay with me. The thought that Spencer could be right haunts me now. 

By the looks of it, though, people are obviously going to think that Ryan and I were just good friends and nothing more. If Ryan ever wants to change that then he can. For now, though, I’m definitely not going to say anything about us. 

“Would you say that being friends with the judges, like Ryan or Victoria, helped you at all during the show?” Kiera asks me now. 

I try to act like the question is no big deal, like it really hasn’t been my problem all along. “Maybe,” I say, like I haven’t ever thought of it. “Really, though, I don’t think the judges would let that effect their evaluation of how we did in competitions.” 

“So, you would say that you got to second runner up because of your talents and not because of what the celebrities thought of you?” 

“Obviously.” 

By the end of the show, I just get reminded of all that I’ve thrown away. Once the cameras all click off, I rush towards the bathroom, everyone high fiving me and telling me it’s going to be okay because obviously I must look like a mess. I end up vomiting my lunch on the ground of the bathroom, my eyes watery.

 

***

 

On Friday night, my mom, my dad, and I all get into the car and drive to the venue for the show. My mom spent nearly an hour getting dresses, nearly putting on every dress she owns. I chose my usual button up and black slacks because it’s not like it really matters anymore. I would have been more worried if I would’ve actually been performing. 

Most of the car ride is silent until, right before we get there and the traffic worsens, my mother asks, “So, are you going to be able to see him?” 

She must have told my dad about what’s happening with Ryan because he too looks up at the rearview mirror with a noticeable curiosity. 

“Dunno,” I mutter, looking out the window. “Maybe…probably.” 

“You’re going to talk to him, right?” my mom says. “I’m sure he won’t ignore you.”

All I can think about is what Spencer said. “I guess I’ll try.” 

We’re a few hours early for the show because they always like to get all of the eliminated competitors and final two in a room and film what happens. Usually everyone isn’t so bitter, and they’re usually smiley and happy. The thought of doing that nearly gives me a headache. 

Once we arrive, a team of producers are waiting to lead us around. There’s a room for the guests, which is mostly parents, and I wave mine away, but not after they give me embarrassingly long hugs. I run a hand through my hair nervously as I’m lead to the room with everyone else. 

Apparently, I’m one of the last ones to arrive because there are already so many people wandering around the room, big smiles. There are cameras everywhere, filming everyone’s reactions. I look around, knowing everyone, but unsure of who even to walk up to. I know I want to see Ryan, but none of the judges seem to be here yet.

Suddenly, people are calling out my name and I don’t have to worry about how to find my way into the group. Jon and William and Katelyn all come rushing for me, each one of them pulling me into a hug. 

I turn to Jon and ask, “You ready for tonight?” 

“Yeah, man, I’m ready to kick ass,” he says, everyone around us breaking into giggles. 

If I can’t be the one who’s performing, I should definitely be happy for the person who is. 

“You’re definitely going to beat Wentz,” I tell him. Even if I believe he will, I do make a quick check to see if Pete isn’t around to hear it. 

I catch up with everyone else, even making small talk with Rachelle, who seems like a totally different person out of the house. Even people who had become enemies during the time in the house, now talk like old friends. When we take our group picture, it feels like one giant family, like we’re all back to the first week, waiting for the competition and we’re lounging in the living room. 

When we finally get some alone time before the show, all of the camera men gone and the catty whispers filling the room, the judges appear. They first talk to Pete and his posse, giving him a pat on the back before making their way over to Jon and our group. 

The second I see Ryan in his ridiculous plaid suite and expertly done hair, I can’t help but to smile. He notices me right away, looking down and biting at a grin himself. All I want to do is lunge forward and give him a hug but I realize that this is Jon’s time. 

“Jonny Boy,” Spencer says, slinging an arm around Jon’s shoulders. “You gonna kill it out there, right?” 

Jon nods and goes off into a speech of his strategies and how much this whole competition means to him. I kind of let his words fuzz over, and just look over to Ryan. He’s giving his attention to Jon, which he deserves, but I’m slightly envious. I should be in Pete’s place, or at least Jon’s. Ryan should be giving me one last hug before I go out and perform to the crowds of people. 

Once the judges seem satisfied that they’ve talked to the final two, they all disperse, talking to everyone now. Ryan and Spencer don’t leave, and I watch as Ryan looks to the ground nervously. 

“Jesus, Brendon,” Spencer finally says once everyone else is occupied on everyone else. “I told you man. Don’t do it.”

“Spencer—“ I start, because I wish I could explain to him all of this. 

“I know,” he says. “Ryan’s obviously told me why you did it…and it’s sweet, Brendon, but so what if people thought you were cheating. Fuck them.” 

“It’s not that easy, Spencer,” Ryan finally says, and it’s only been a week, but, God, I’ve missed his voice. 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. What’s done has been done. Brendon, in all honesty, you’re still going to get signed by someone. The bottom three always do. It may not be as showy as the winner, but you’ll definitely be making music. Also, what I said, before you performed, I don’t think that’s true anymore. For now, though, I’m going to go and you two can…you know.” Spencer clears his throat and gives us both a hopeful look before leaving. 

I look after him with a giant grin on my face, like it’s Christmas morning. “Is he serious? Will I actually get signed?” I ask Ryan, which really shouldn’t be the first question I ask him, but it seems the most important. 

“Maybe,” Ryan says quietly. “Um, Brendon.” 

He looks like he’s ready to tell me something important, which is honestly what I was expecting, but then Pete comes up and looks between us awkwardly. He looks confident, and for a moment, I wonder if he’s about to blackmail us or something, but then he quietly asks, “Hey, Brendon can I talk to you, like, alone.” 

I look over to Ryan, and it physically hurts to know that I’ll have to wait even longer to hear what he has to say, but I’m not saying no to Pete. I nod my head slowly, and Pete grabs my arm harshly and pulls me out of the room and into what looks like a green room. He closes the door quickly, and I watch the confidence slowly slip away from his face. 

“I just need to know,” Pete starts, swallowing audibly. “I need to know that you didn’t just throw the competition because of what I said to you and Ryan.” 

I freeze. I wasn’t sure what to expect with Pete, but this, I certainly wasn’t thinking that he was here to clear his conscious. And, maybe for a second, do I think that maybe I should lie, and say it was all Pete’s fault, make him completely guilty, but he’s already looking pretty down so I decide against it.

“I just had an off week,” I say quickly. 

“Look, Brendon, when I said that, I was…really worried for myself. I knew I was going home, okay? I just wanted to scare you a little. I didn’t think you would actually go home.”

It takes me a few moments to realize that Pete is actually trying to apologize to me. He obviously feels bad about forcing me to go home. 

“No, Pete, it’s okay,” I finally say. And, sure, maybe I am mad at him just a little for everything he’s done to me, but he really wasn’t the entire reason I went home. “Don’t worry about it. You didn’t force me to do anything.”

Pete still looks timid, like he’s waiting for something else. “I just…You should really be the one who’s going out there tonight, not me. I’m not sure if I can do this.” 

“Dude,” I tell him, making sure he’s actually listening. “You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t good at this stuff. You’ll do fine, and I’m sure your song is great, too.” 

Pete nods. “Thanks, man,” he whispers. “And, I won’t tell anyone. About Ryan and you.” 

I thank him and then we leave the dressing room, working our way back to where we were. Everyone is gone now and for a few moments I start to panic. Then, of course, a group of stage hands finds us, and I watch as Pete gets sped away to get ready for the show. 

***

I spend the entire show feeling restless. I’m not even sure if I’ll be able to talk to Ryan now. By the time the show is over and the winner is chosen, chaos will most certainly break out, and the chances of me getting alone time with Ryan are slim to none. There’s so much unfinished business between the two of us, and it feels like I’ve been waiting years for some kind of resolution. 

Each celebrity performs a song with their band, and if I wasn’t so preoccupied on Ryan, I would be freaking out. Ryan and Spencer’s band play a song that I obviously know, and I can hear people in the crowd singing along and it almost makes me want to, as well. I watch Ryan as he bobs along to the music, looking down to his guitar occasionally, and then singing all his lyrics into the microphone. 

The final two performances are Pete and Jon, and Pete goes first. He walks on stage with a bass around his neck before the band goes up, and the cheers from the audience grow exponentially. He looks even more nervous than when he was talking to me, big eyes facing the crowd. The rest of the band comes on stage, and Patrick is the one walking up to the microphone in the center. 

If the contestants don’t feel comfortable singing their song, then they get one of the judges to sing it. Pete does end up singing the chorus with a shaky voice, fingers still moving on his bass. His song is good, an up-tempo rock feel to it. I nod along and look around to gauge everyone’s reactions, but everyone around me just seems to be jealous.

When Jon comes onstage, it’s just him and an acoustic guitar, which is risky. He appears perfectly comfortable in front of everyone, smiling widely. His song is slower, but he puts so much emotion into it that I don’t even notice for most of it. Once he’s done, and the crowd is booming, I know that Jon is going to win. Pete’s good, but Jon’s better. 

Before they announce the winner, they bring all of the competitors onstage, and for a few minutes, I completely space out just looking into the crowd. Last week, the thought of playing here scared me, but now, with all the seats filled, it only fills me with a need to entertain. 

There’s a reason why I’m not in Jon or Pete’s spot, though. It’s all for Ryan, and I would rather have Ryan then some silly pipe dream. 

I barely even notice when they announce that Jon has won, and all the confetti has fallen from the ceiling with the audience screaming.

***

There’s an after-party planned, and we go straight there after Jon is announced the winner. We all ride in the limo again, and my heart swells when Ryan sits next me. I decide that we should wait until we get to the club so we can find somewhere private to talk. Pete is brooding, looking completely devastated as Rachelle and a few others try to console him. 

I’m expecting to talk to the second we get to the club, but a few people pull Ryan away and I can’t even be bothered anymore. It feels like a sign that Ryan doesn’t actually want to talk to me. I end up spending the whole night in the corner, sipping a beer that I’m not even supposed to have. 

I finally decide to leave after I congratulate Jon again, making sure to get his number, and then walk outside and wait for my mom to just come and pick me up. When I’m leaning against the wall, realizing that, of course, Spencer was right, Victoria and Hayley rush outside, looking everywhere until they spot me. 

“Brendon, what the fuck?” Victoria yells, running towards at me. 

“What?” I say, a little annoyed, but more curious as to why they’re angry at me. 

“Ryan has been looking for you for, like, an hour…and he thought you left. But then Jon said you were talking to him and—“

“Ryan really wants to talk to you,” Hayley interrupts abruptly. 

“Um,” I start. Of course, my insides all light up with hope and I feel ridiculous when I ask, “Where is he?” 

“Don’t worry, Bren, we’ll tell him you’re out here. It’ll be easier.” 

I watch them trot off, but not before they give me up a knowing smile. I suddenly feel sick with anxiety as I fidget with my sleeve and wait for Ryan to come talk to me. 

He does finally emerge from the doors of the club and walks up to me, looks me over, and then leans against the wall next to me. “So,” he starts. “Spencer told me what he said to you.”

Suddenly, I feel pretty naive, like Ryan’s going to confirm Spencer’s foresight. 

“He was honestly just trying to scare you, I swear. I don’t have any intentions of doing that to you, Brendon. I mean I kind of love you, so just leaving you would be really hard on me. And, after what you’ve done, why wouldn’t I? Like—“

“Wait, what?” 

Ryan blinks. “What?” 

“You said you loved me. You said that when I got eliminated, too. Do you really mean it?” 

“Oh, um, well yeah, I do,” Ryan says quietly. “I guess that wasn’t the most romantic way, but it just kind of came out and, I’m kind of nervous about this. But I’m gonna come out, Brendon. I’m going to do it, and I really want you to be my boyfriend.” 

I can’t even process it all at one, so I just end up lunging forward to hug Ryan. I want to do more, but we’re in public, with random people lining the street so I don’t. He instantly falls closer, my smile pressing into the crook of his neck, and I just never want to let go. I whisper, “I love you too.” 

We pull back a little, matching smiles on our faces, but then Ryan leans forward and kisses me with confidence, not worrying about anyone around us.

“This can be all the time now,” Ryan says when we pull apart. 

And, God, am I looking forward to that.


	15. EPILOGUE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, look, I managed to finish this fic. I want to thank everyone who has took the time to comment or left me kudos because I love you all and it definitely helped me throughout the writing process. I know this isn't too much, but I just wanted something simple to tie things together. Hope you've enjoyed the fic.

EPILOGUE 

 

Ryan fiddles with the cuffs of his button down, letting out sighs every few seconds. There are people all around us, fixing the lighting and working on the perfect camera angles, and not to mention, the crowd of people all talking quietly. 

“This was a bad idea,” Ryan whispers to me, big eyes looking for some kind of excuse to leave. 

“It will be fine,” I assure him again.

Ryan’s been panicking since we got picked up for the interview, even if he was the one that planned everything out so meticulously. He wanted a way to come out that wasn’t showy, but just put everything out there so we weren’t flocked with questions. He’s not too preoccupied on everyone’s reactions like he once was, but he’s still fearing the loss of fans and hate mail he’ll get. 

Nonetheless, here we are, sitting next to each other at an interview show, minutes before actually making the announcement. The interviewer, Jen, already knows. We had a brief rehearsal of what exactly we were planning on saying, making sure that everything would time out correctly. Ryan had spent the entire time blushing, looking down to his lap with a grin on his face. 

We also told Ryan’s parents together. On a Saturday evening a few weeks after the show ended, we went to his parent’s house for a dinner. Ryan was practically stuttering when we arrived, obviously unsure of even how to even introduce me. It wasn’t until we all sat down and started eating that Ryan finally mustered up the courage to explain why he was insistent on everyone coming together. It went over well, his mother looking more relieved than anything, and even mentioned that she always kind of thought Ryan was gay. His father nodded, obviously having come to the conclusion at some point as well. 

"This is what you wanted,” I remind him, placing my hand onto his thigh and squeezing gently. 

This seems to make Ryan’s facial expressions soften. He brings a hand up to my hair, moving a few strands around and mumbling, “The people in hair and makeup messed it up.” 

Jen finally takes her spot, and then they start cueing the cameras and then Jen.

“This week, our guests are Ryan Ross and Brendon Urie. You know Ryan from his band Affinity, whose new record comes out November fifth, and you might not be so familiar of Brendon Urie. He was recently a contestant on the reality TV show ‘Key of Victory’, where the contestants battle it out for a record deal with the mentoring of five celebrity judges. Ryan was one of those judges, and sparked up a friendship with Brendon. Unfortunately, Brendon didn’t win, but came in third place.” 

Cue the applause. 

I start to do the math in my head, realizing that November fifth is only four weeks away. I only have four more weeks with Ryan until he’s whisked away to go on tour and promote his new album. I’m happy for him, but missing him will only kill me a little. Plus, I should be busy while he’s gone anyway. I got signed by a minor label who wants to market me as a solo performer, even if I’ve only ever wanted to be in a band. We planned it this way, though, so that I would be at the studio recording while he was touring. It seemed like a good idea at the time, so we could concentrate on the music, but now I just want to skip recording and just go on tour with Ryan.

Jen asks us general questions about the competition. Most are trivial, and Ryan and I just take turns answering them, but mostly, I end up talking the most, making everyone in the crowd laugh. 

“But, it has come to my attention that you guys got very close during the filming of the show,” Jen says knowingly. 

I smile and look over to Ryan, assuming I’ll see him doing the same, but he looks stuck in-between being petrified or embarrassed with his eyes wide. It takes him a moment, but he does seem to pull it together, enough to mumble out a confident, “Yes,” and then, “Brendon and I are…” and he looks over at me, looking much calmer, and says to me, “We’re dating.” 

The crowd seems hesitant to react, like they aren’t even sure if they heard that right, but then Ryan grabs for my hand our fingers snaking into each other’s and this seems to be the confirmation. They all clap and cheer, and I can hear some of the women going, “Aw,” and everything seems to be working out finally. 

I look over to Ryan again, and he’s smiling more than before, even showing his teeth with confidence, staring at the crowd of people like he’s finally home. Suddenly, everything I gave up, the whole competition, my dream from day one, doesn’t seem so smashed anymore. The guilt of what I did is completely gone. It was for Ryan, all along, and we’re finally here. He’s finally come out after spending so long hiding. 

The rest of the show goes over well with congratulating and careful inquiries about our relationship. By the time it finishes, Ryan is obviously more comfortable about the situation, smiling fondly at some of the memories we recall. Once we’re backstage with all sorts of people swarming by, not paying too much attention to us, I pull Ryan into a hug. 

“You don’t regret it, right?” I ask cautiously, my arms tangling around his torso and my head falling onto his shoulder. 

Ryan pauses a moment and then says, “Definitely not,” right before he kisses me.


End file.
